The Power He Knows Not
by Shinysavage
Summary: AU.Book 4: Emotionally devastated by the treachery of his third year, Harry also has to deal with unwanted trials at Hogwarts, both legal and magical – but everything is overshadowed by prophecy: betrayal is just the first step towards Voldemort’s return…
1. Prologue: Ritual Violence

**The Power He Knows Not**

Harry Potter and the Second War: Book 4

**Disclaimer: **If you recognise it, it isn't mine. I'm just borrowing it and mucking around for a while.

**Summary:** Emotionally devastated by the treachery of his third year, Harry also has to deal with unwanted trials at Hogwarts, both legal and magical – but everything is overshadowed by prophecy: betrayal is just the first step towards Voldemort's return… 4th in a series, so read the others first.

**Warnings:** Violence, language, character death. Rated M for safety more than anything.

**Prologue: Ritual Violence**

It was the night of the new moon, a night most suitable for such a ritual; the ritual that formed the first step of their Lord's rebirth.

The Death Eaters knelt in a circle around a wooden altar, which had been carefully painted with strange runes that hurt the eyes if you looked too closely. On top of it was a shimmering silver bowl, containing a potion, and the small corpse that would serve as their Lord's temporary vessel. It would be destroyed in the true rebirth, when He would reclaim His true form, but He needed His own body before that ritual could be undertaken, not some mere Muggle who had happened to pass by His dwelling. Rosier had taken an obscene glee in obtaining the corpse for his Master. The Muggle in question was bound tightly to a chair in the corner. He was sobbing in terror.

The true Death Eaters – Sirius Black, Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch and the Carrow twins – were shrouded in shadow black robes, their faces obscured by bone white masks. There were two others though, dressed in ordinary robes. The first – a tall, fierce looking man, his dark hair flecked with grey – was very still, his back rigid, a proud gleam on his face, as if this were the fulfilment of all his possible desires. The second – a younger man, with very short hair and a distinctly unkempt look about him – was fidgeting, his gaze constantly shifting, as if he had realised he had made a big mistake.

The young man shuddered violently as Nagini, the Dark Lord's familiar, slithered past him, hissing softly to herself. The others in the circle cast contemptuous looks at him, but said nothing, unwilling to break the silence. The candles that ringed the room flickered, as if a wind was blowing through the room, and Sirius stood up, drawing his wand. He paced to the altar, and held out his arm over the corpse.

"My Lord, I offer you magic, that you may be restored."

His body spasmed as a tendril of darkness snaked from the mouth of the tattoo on his wrist. It seeped over the corpse's nose, and its eyelids opened with a jerk, revealing empty sockets. Sirius bit back a manic laugh as he felt the raw magic flow through and around him. Dazed by the sensation, he nearly forgot to complete his part; he drew a thin line up his arm with his wand, cutting the flesh. Blood trickled out, falling into the corpse's mouth. He forced himself to step back so that the ritual could continue. One by one, the Death Eaters and the two others stepped forward, uttering the same pledge as Sirius, each donating a portion of magic and blood to their Lord.

As the final devotee – the young man, who had stumbled over his words – knelt back down, the corpse gave out a loud cry, a hideous sound that made their teeth buzz. It echoed around them, not stopping even as the corpse climbed uncertainly to its feet. It looked around the circle, unseeing, still screaming, and Sirius saw the young man close his eyes, sickened. He concealed a scowl. The man was clearly unworthy. Couldn't he see how glorious this was? Never mind that their Lord was returning, could the boy – not man, _boy_, pathetic, blind _boy_ – not appreciate that this was magic most never dreamed of?

On the other side of the circle, Rosier climbed to his feet, his eyes shining almost lustfully. From within his robes, he produced a shining diadem. He handled it carefully, almost reverently, and placed it gently on the head of the corpse. The corpse ceased to scream. In the corner, the Muggle began to twitch. Rosier withdrew a potions vial from his sleeve, and carefully, ever so carefully, tilted it over the diadem. A foul smelling dark liquid spilled out, and the diadem sizzled where it touched. It began to melt, silver pouring over the corpse, and there was the distant echo of a scream. Something smoked out, spreading around the corpse before being sucked into it.

A vaporous form spread from the Muggle in the corner, somehow managing to hiss in delight, and flowed between the Death Eaters. It mingled with the dark cloud over the corpse, and was sucked into the corpse along with the darkness from the diadem. The corpse began to shudder, suddenly going rigid with shock, splaying itself out with such force that they could hear the bones crack. The dying flesh began to peel off, falling to the glowing potion bathing the corpse, and under the flesh, ugly scales began to form. It looked like a baby had been sown into snake skin.

The thing began to scream once again, but this was different. The Death Eaters could feel the power behind it, and the silver bowl rose from the altar, the thing still inside it. The scream rose in pitch, and the bowl shattered, the potion spilling everywhere. The thing hung in mid-air, and as they watched, they saw red eyes begin to form within the empty eye sockets. There was a pulse of power, and the Death Eaters were thrown to the floor. The thing sank slowly down, landing on all fours, and it looked up malevolently.

"My wand. Bring me my wand."

Sirius stood up, and placed the wand gently into his Lord's outstretched palm. The scaly little fingers clasped around it lovingly, stroking it. With a high, cold laugh, the thing swished the wand, and the Muggle was torn in two before he even had time to scream. Nagini slithered over and began to swallow, noisily.

"It has been too long, my servants. Too long since I felt my magic soar."

Sirius sank to his knees once more. "My Lord, your magic shall sweep across the world like a wave – we shall all feel your magic soar!"

The thing smiled, revealing tiny fangs. "Would that you all had such faith old friend. I sense one amongst us who is not so sure… Master Spitewinter, perhaps you could introduce us to your young friend?"

The older man, with grey flecked hair, bowed his head. "My Lord, this is Damien Stark, a member of our humble group. I assure you, his loyalty is without question – "

"_No-one's_ loyalty is without question – as Dumbledore and his band have found out to their cost, eh Sirius? But I do not doubt his loyalty… Merely his faith. Look at me Stark."

The young man raised his head, trembling, and looked at the thing that was his new Lord. He was unable to repress a shudder, unable to stop himself looking away, just for a moment. The thing's eyes narrowed.

"It causes you distress to look upon me, Stark? When you look upon your Lord, you feel only… revulsion? I cannot say I blame you; truly, my form is hideous to the mundane eye. But you are my follower – you are not mundane Stark. Can you not look beyond this exterior, see the majesty of my power? Answer me honestly now…"

Stark trembled, terrified, but managed to stutter, looking more and more horrified as he did so: "N…No my Lord…"

The Dark Lord smiled without humour. "I see. Well, if it pains you to look at me so much Stark…"

He swished his wand again. Stark shrieked in agony as his eyes boiled in their sockets, and he fell to the floor, clawing at his face. Spitewinter took a step away, careful not to look. The Dark Lord watched Stark's torment with joy, before tiring of it.

"_Nagini… Finish him."_

The great serpent looked up from her feast in the corner, and hissed softly. She wound her way around the watching Death Eaters and approached Stark. In a flash, she had wound her way around his chest, and slashed her fangs into his neck, tearing it open. His screams were cut off abruptly, blood pouring from his wounds. The Dark Lord looked away, towards Spitewinter.

"I trust that none of your other acolytes will have this problem?"

"I assure you, they will not my Lord." Spitewinter responded, bowing deeply.

"Excellent…"

On the other side of the country, Harry James Potter woke up, his scar burning.

* * *

A/N: For those of you interested in such things, Spitewinter is the name of a small village in the UK, which I happened to stumble across while map-reading. I just had to use it somehow, so here we go.


	2. Dark Summer

**Chapter 1: Dark Summer**

Harry rolled out of bed, rubbing his scar wearily. He supposed he should be grateful; it was the first vision he had had since May. He took his hand away from his head, examining it. At least his scar hadn't split open.

"_One time. One time, and you won't let me forget it will you? It isn't like I do it on purpose!"_

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation as the petulant voice echoed around his head. His mental guest, master of sarcasm and pretty good with dark magic. And now named Titus, at his own request. That had been awkward…

* * *

_Two weeks ago:_

He had been sitting in the lounge, pretending to be engrossed in _Gormenghast_ in a desperate attempt to avoid his aunt's nagging worry. Ever since he had come back for the summer, she had been driving him crazy, always wanting to talk about… him. His godfather. It still hurt even to think his name.

He had been sitting there, staring at the same page for nearly ten minutes, when the voice started speaking. It had startled him, and he had genuinely jumped out of his seat, much to the surprise of the Dursleys.

"_Titus… Nice. I like the sound of that – it's unusual, don't you think?"_

"Harry? Are you all right?" Aunt Petunia was half out of her chair, hovering and looking worried. Harry flashed a hasty smile at her.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. I just – dozed off… Odd dream. I'm fine. Excuse me a minute…"

Once he was safely battened away in his bedroom, he sprawled on his bed, sighing to himself in frustration.

"What the hell are you doing? You nearly gave me a heart attack! And how the hell are we supposed to talk when we're not alone?"

"_Well, for a start, I live inside your head – you don't need to speak out loud, I can hear you just fine even if you only think your reply. And stop whinging; you're the one who wants me to teach you magic, so you're going to have to communicate with me. So put up and shut up, as I believe the expression goes."_

Harry scowled, but said his reply mentally, trying it out.

"Can you hear me?"

"_Yes, of course. So, what do you think of the name?"_

"What name?"

"_Titus you fool. The one I said earlier. What do you think?"_

Harry shrugged.

"It's ok I guess. Why Titus though?"

"_Like I said – distinctive, unusual. A little regal as well, don't you think?"_

"And you call me arrogant…" Harry muttered out loud. He jumped as someone knocked on his door.

"Harry? Harry, are you alright?"

He climbed to his feet, and opened the door.

"Yeah, I'm fine Aunt – "

"Oh Harry, your head! Come here, come here…"

Bewildered by this outburst, Harry allowed his aunt to drag him along the landing to the bathroom. As she busied herself in the medicine cabinet, he sneaked a look in the mirror. There was a thin trickle of blood coming from his scar.

"Oh… I must have banged my head when I jumped up. Hadn't realised. It's nothing, don't worry about it."

Typically, his aunt paid no attention to this, fussing over him as if he were her own flesh and blood. He pulled away, slightly embarrassed, muttering to himself.

"I've had far worse than this you know…"

There was an awkward silence, suddenly broken by a sniffle. Harry was horrified to realise that his aunt was crying.

"Oh – oh don't cry, I wasn't…" He tailed off, unsure of what to say.

He winced slightly as she hugged him tightly. He was still a little sore from his fight with Sirius and Rosier at the end of term – even if it hadn't exactly been him fighting. He said nothing though, just patted his aunt on the back. She'd only worry more if he told her, and it was hardly crippling pain.

"I know Harry, I know. I'm sorry… making a fool of myself…"

"No you aren't." Harry told her firmly. She gave a watery chuckle.

"I just worry about you – when I think about how many times he could have killed you…"

Harry tensed, wary of any conversation about _him_.

"Yeah, well. He didn't, did he? And you know that the house has been re-warded; he'll have difficulty getting onto the_ street_, let alone through the door. I'm not going anywhere Aunt Petunia."

She smiled, and hugged him again.

"You'd better not. I don't know what I'd do if you did."

Harry blushed.

* * *

_Now:_

Harry rubbed his scar, scowling to himself. After that little incident, he and Titus had kept their conversations to the evening, after everyone else was in bed. It wasn't as if Titus could teach him much while his family were around, and they weren't exactly going to talk about the latest Quidditch results. Harry wouldn't describe his strange guest as a friend by any means. After a while though, the side effects had died down; his scar didn't even twinge, let alone start to bleed. Of course, there was still the problem of mental distraction, which had caused a few odd looks from his family.

Sitting back down on the bed, he tried to remember everything he could about the vision he had seen. Some of it was all too clear; that corpse had been terrifying. And as for what Voldemort had done to Stark… Harry shuddered in revulsion, and felt his stomach churn. He hurried to the bathroom, trying to remain silent, and emptied his stomach into the toilet. Merlin…

"_Yeah, yeah, it was horrible and bloody and all that jazz. I thought you wanted to learn how to do that kind of thing? Anyway, don't you think there are a few more important things in that vision to worry about? Like, say, Voldemort getting a body back? Well, I say a body…"_

"Thanks, I'd spotted that for myself. Don't suppose you recognised the place did you?"

"_You do remember the bit about me not being aware of anything before your godfather tried to kill you, don't you? I'd have thought you would, I did save your life after all. No, of course I didn't recognise the place. Why would I have done anyway?"_

Harry shrugged. "Why wouldn't you? I don't know where you came from."

"_You're too paranoid for your own good._"

Harry rolled his eyes. This was a common argument. Despite the spells Titus had promised to teach him – which Harry had to confess, weren't all Dark, or even dark – Harry occasionally had pangs of worry, based around the mystery of Titus' appearance in his head. True, Titus had saved his life on certainly one occasion, and claimed to have done so on two others; in Harry's first year, when Sirius had attacked him in the Forest, and in his second year, when the shade of Tom Riddle had broken into his head. Harry had been unconscious for both events, so couldn't verify either claim. But despite himself, Harry basically trusted him. His morality might be ambiguous, but he was certain Titus would never hurt him or his friends.

Well, fairly.

He dragged his mind back to the content of the vision. "What about the people – that Spitewinter, ever heard of him?"

"_Again… No memories prior to saving your life – which you've never thanked me for incidentally, do feel free to do so anytime you wish."_

"Hm. Sounds familiar from somewhere. Maybe Remus mentioned him?" Harry mused to himself.

"_Or maybe, given the company he's keeping, Sirius mentioned him? They clearly knew each other."_

Harry grimaced, but acknowledged the point.

"_Look, not that I don't appreciate being taken into your confidence, very charming etcetera etcetera, but wouldn't you be better off talking to someone with more knowledge to draw on than whatever you've managed to cram into your skull? Remus, perhaps? Hell, write to Dumbledore. You'll end up talking to him about it anyway, might as well cut out the middleman."_

"I don't want them worrying about me…"

"_Ah, well, so long as you live your life with that sensible attitude you won't go far wrong. Stop being a twat and write the letter. You won't get to sleep while you're worrying about it, you know that."_

"Yes _mother._"

* * *

Sure enough, Harry had got back to sleep far quicker than he might have expected after sending Hedwig off with the letter to Remus. He had tried to keep it light and unconcerned, but wasn't sure how successful he had been; the vision had been undoubtedly scary.

The next morning, Harry returned to his room after breakfast, pretending to be doing his holiday homework. In reality, he was pouring over a list of things that Titus had dictated for him, ranging from little duelling tips to spells. He couldn't wait to try them out once he got back to Hogwarts – there were times he really hated not being able to do magic except in certain places. He could hardly ask Peter to take him back to the Dearborn house to practice spells that the voice in his head had told him. That would get him some unquestionably funny looks.

Try as he might though, he couldn't concentrate. His mind kept slipping back to the vision he had seen. He hadn't quite realised how far you could take the dark arts, despite his unusually heavy exposure to them. It was unsettling, and he was beginning to wonder if he had done the right thing in asking Titus to teach him about them. He was no Voldemort in waiting, he knew that, but that didn't mean he would never become dangerous. Maybe he should calm it down a little…

His aunt called from below, interrupting his musings.

"Harry! Come down, Remus is here!"

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected his guardian to show up so soon. He hastily shoved the paper he had been reading back under the floor, where no-one was likely to find it, and hurried downstairs. Remus was waiting in the hall for him, looking even more serious than normal.

"Harry, how are you? Fancy a little trip out?" Remus asked, not bothering to wait for a reply.

Harry frowned, confused, and then picked up the hidden meaning: _not in front of the Dursleys_.

"Eh, yes, why not? Just let me get my coat…"

He ran back upstairs, throwing his coat over his shoulders – and for good measure, grabbing his wand. The action gave him a pang of regret, tinged with anger. He usually never bothered, since he couldn't use it outside Hogwarts and Privet Drive was safe from attack. That sense of security had been stolen from him by Sirius, even after the boosted wards. At the bottom of the stairs, Remus was explaining to Aunt Petunia that they probably wouldn't be back for awhile, and apologising for the short notice.

"Don't worry about it Remus, it'll do him good to get out of the house – oh, Harry, do have a good time won't you? And behave!"

"I always do Aunt Petunia." Harry responded with a wry smile, letting her know that he had heard her concern. She flushed, faintly, and kissed him goodbye.

Unusually, Remus didn't even bother to leave the house before Disapparating, clinging tightly to Harry's shoulder. This was generally considered the height of bad manners in the wizarding world, and it was a mark of how unnerved Remus was feeling that he broke this unspoken rule.

They reappeared near Remus's flat, a rather dilapidated building near Oxford. That was something of an understatement actually; Harry had always thought of it as a Muggle version of the Burrow in terms of quality, but it was all Remus could afford. He had not inherited much from his family, and his condition left him largely unemployable, in the eyes of most at least. Remus led Harry up the stairs slowly, so slowly that Harry could have been fooled into thinking he was recovering from a painful transformation. However, it was three weeks to the full moon.

"Remus, are you ok?"

He saw his guardian tense, just for a moment, as if he had wanted to avoid this issue.

"Still suffering from what Sirius did. I will be for a while to be honest, he poisoned my system shockingly well."

Remus didn't meet Harry's eyes as he spoke, as if he was somehow ashamed of his injuries. Harry scowled, and mentally notched up another grievance against Sirius. He would make him pay. Remus said nothing more on the subject, concentrating on getting the front door open. Once they were safely inside, he turned back to Harry, looking grave.

"We need to talk about your vision Harry."

"What's to talk about? I told you everything that happened."

"You're sure? You didn't leave anything out?"

"Trust me, it was rather… vivid."

Remus winced, a pitying light shining in his eyes. Harry looked away, only to be startled when Remus took his hand, squeezing it.

"Are you going to be ok? If you want to talk – "

"Remus, I'd just like to forget I ever saw it. The whole thing was messed up, and what he did to those men was foul. I just… I just don't want to think about it, ok?" Harry was embarrassed to realise that he was nearly pleading by the time he stopped speaking. Remus sighed, but nodded.

"If you change your mind, you know where I am."

"Of course I do," Harry replied. "Although there was something I wanted to ask you; who's this Spitewinter bloke? The name sounds familiar from somewhere."

Remus frowned in distaste. "He's a pureblood noble. He commands the Knights of the Dark Lord. Well, not that anyone can prove it. Too rich, and too much political influence."

"So basically he's a bigoted psycho?"

Remus's eyes flashed with amusement. "A masterful summary, yes."

There was a brief silence while they both contemplated the ramifications of the alliance. The Knights were a largely ineffectual group of disillusioned purebloods who dreamt of being granted the title of Death Eater. By and large, they weren't that dangerous, rating somewhere on the level of 'annoyance'. However, with Voldemort's backing, they could become truly dangerous, and it would give him a massive support base. Harry shuddered, involuntarily. Remus looked like he agreed.

"Well, I've seen him there now; couldn't he be arrested?" Harry asked, a little naively.

"Harry, you have a powerful reputation, but 'I saw it in a dream' won't stand up in court, not even from you. Sorry." Remus responded with a mild chuckle. Harry scowled.

"So what's going to happen? We know he's involved, and if he's got all this influence then he can't just drop off the face of the earth – is he going to be tailed or something?"

"I would imagine so, yes. It might even fall to me to track him."

"Well, only until the start of term, right?"

Remus blinked, confused, and then nodded in understanding. "Ah, yes… I won't be coming back to Hogwarts this year Harry."

"What? How come? You were brilliant!"

"Thank you Harry," Remus smiled faintly, but carried on. "But Sirius injured me too badly. You saw me coming in here; I'm still feeling the effects. I'll be next to useless teaching Defence, especially to the older students. Dumbledore's already got someone lined up, although he didn't say who."

Harry absorbed this in silence. He couldn't help but notice that Remus looked slightly bitter about the issue, but couldn't tell if he was annoyed with Dumbledore, his replacement, or even just Sirius.

"They won't be as good as you. I'll miss you."

Remus smiled brightly. "That's nice to hear Harry, but it isn't as if I'm abandoning Hogwarts completely. Peter and I will still be around to keep you and your friends up to speed on duelling, and I wouldn't miss what's happening this year for the world…"

"What do you mean? What's happening?" Harry demanded, his curiosity pricked.

Remus grinned again. "Oh, you'll find out…"


	3. At The World Cup

A/N: Just a quick reminder, that should have been in the last chapter: Italics is reserved for spells, Parseltongue, or Titus. It should be obvious from context which is going on; if not, let me know and I'll do something different for each one. When Titus and Harry are talking, unless it's stated otherwise, all conversation is mental, not out loud. Again, if you think putting Harry's speech into italics (or similar) at these points would be helpful, let me know and I'll sort it out. Enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 2: At The World Cup**

"Harry, you bastard! How could you – " Dudley paused, bending over and retching, "How could you do this to me?"

Harry did his best to tune out the sounds of the Weasley twins laughing uproariously as he tried to sooth his cousin. Apparently, Dudley and Portkeys didn't mix well. He patted him on the back, trying not to grin.

"I'm sorry Dud, I didn't know this would happen! I mean, I know it's uncomfortable, but I've never seen this happen before…"

"Wow, lucky me; I get a genuinely new experience… God, I'm never complaining about getting travel sick again!" Dudley grumbled, wiping his mouth clean. Harry bit his lip.

"Dud, you do realise that we'll be taking another one back, don't you?"

Dudley stared at him in silence for a moment, before throwing his hands up in the air.

"I'm really not very fond of any of you, you know that?"

"Sorry Dudley." Harry responded, attempting an apologetic expression. Dudley scowled at him.

"Oh come on mate, cheer up! Here, have one of these, it'll make you feel better." Fred held out a small sweet, and Dudley reached out to take it. Harry grabbed his arm.

"Don't. Seriously, don't. Remember the Ton-Tongue Toffee?" Harry turned to the twins and glared as Dudley shivered in remembrance. "Don't wind him up guys."

"Ooh, Fred, Harry's angry with us!"

"What are we going to do brother? Do you think he'll hurt us?"

"It's not like he can is it?"

Harry smirked a little evilly as he remembered something Ron had told him in a letter. He leaned forward, and hissed "_Hello_" at the twins, speaking in Parseltongue. Fear flickered over their faces, and they lowered their voices.

"Did you just curse us in Parseltongue?" they asked, speaking simultaneously.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Harry responded, grinning at them. He walked off, holding Dudley's arm, ignoring them shouting after him. Ron and Ginny sniggered, pleased to see the twins confused for once. Ron grinned at Harry.

"See, I told you it wouldn't matter they found out! You've got a weapon against them now."

Harry shrugged. "You still shouldn't have been talking about it, but I guess I can let you off."

"What did you say to them anyway? You didn't really curse them did you?" Ginny asked.

"Of course not! All I said was hello."

Ginny doubled over laughing when she heard this, and Harry grinned cheekily at the twins. They all made their way over to Mr Weasley, who was arguing about their camp-site with the befuddled Muggle who seemed to be in charge. Eventually, a Ministry official showed up, and was able to sort things out to everyone's satisfaction (after a minor altercation about financial matters, as Mr Weasley didn't seem to know what you did with Muggle money).

It took them most of the morning to set up the tents, as Mr Weasley was determined to do things the Muggle way – which wasn't familiar even to Harry and Dudley, camping holidays not being all that popular with Vernon and Petunia. The Weasleys had even less idea, since they were used to just tapping the tent with a wand. Eventually, they had everything figured out, and Harry and his friends set off to explore the camp and look for Draco, who was also at the Cup. Ron wasn't terribly happy about this, but the others shouted him down.

Seeing wizards on holiday was an exciting experience for Harry and Dudley, as neither of them were used to it. Even the tents were weird and wonderful; their own tent seemed modest by comparison, despite the built in bathroom, kitchen and bedrooms. Harry swore blind he had seen one that had a moat, but Dudley refused to believe him. There were quite a few people that Harry recognised – Seamus was there, dressed head to toe in Ireland's colours, and they saw Oliver Wood in the distance. There were others that Harry was less pleased to see. Theodore Nott was sitting outside a spectacular tent, which looked like it had been woven from gold. When he saw Harry, he stopped what he was doing to deliver a truly evil glare, and Harry distinctly saw him reach for his wand.

"Theodore! What are you doing?"

Nott dropped his hand away at the voice, half-turning to acknowledge the stern-looking woman who appeared from within the tent. Harry assumed she was Nott's mother. She was striking rather than good looking, and she looked like someone who was accustomed to being obeyed. She looked over at Harry and his friends.

"Friends of yours Theodore? Well…" Before Nott could answer, recognition flashed across his mother's face. It removed any trace of attractiveness from her features as she too glared at Harry. "Come inside Theodore." They both turned their backs on the groups and walked into the tent. Dudley looked at Harry in confusion.

"What was that all about? What did you do to piss them off?"

Harry shrugged. "I think it's just the fact that I exist to be honest. I've no idea what I'm supposed to have done. Kinda like you and Piers Polkiss, you know?"

"Ah, right. Fair enough." Dudley nodded in understanding, but he still looked back over his shoulder at the Nott's tent as they set off.

They explored the camp for a little while longer – Harry picked up Omnioculars for all of them, prompting embarrassment from Ron – admiring the impressive fan displays and catching up with some of the people they saw. After an hour or so, Harry spotted the Malfoy's tent. As with the Nott's tent, it was truly spectacular, although instead of spun gold, this looked like white silk.

Draco was sitting outside the tent, watching his father talk to someone. Lucius Malfoy did not seem happy to see his guest, and was clutching his cane tightly. Harry knew that Malfoy kept his wand in the top of the cane, so this suggested the guest bordered on unfriendly, not just dull. He couldn't hear what Malfoy was saying, but he recognised an expression of dismissal when he saw one. His guest shrugged, and turned around. He looked very familiar, and when he saw Harry, his eyes lit up.

"Ah, Harry Potter! Might I say that it is a pleasure to meet you at last?" He bowed, and held his hand out for Harry to shake. Uncertain, Harry began to reach his own hand out.

"Don't you have other places to be Spitewinter?" Lucius drawled, a threatening undertone in his voice.

Harry froze as he realised where he had seen the man before – in his vision from a few weeks ago. Spitewinter scowled, but straightened up. He walked away without another word, Lucius watching him carefully.

"You know him?" Harry asked, rather rudely.

Lucius raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Regrettably, we are acquainted, yes Master Potter. A most distasteful individual. I take it that you are aware of his interests?"

Harry nodded grimly, ignoring the bemused glances from his friends – although Draco seemed to know what they were talking about. Lucius sneered scornfully.

"He sought to recruit me for his 'crusade'. The nerve of the man! Had he dared to darken my doorstep I would have caused him such pain it would have passed into legend… But no matter. I may get another opportunity, after all."

"Not quite your idea of fun?"

Draco winced at Harry's impertinent question, and Lucius' eyes darkened. He tapped Harry on the shoulder with his cane.

"I have my pride Harry – even if I did hold any sympathy for his views, my treatment during the war would ensure I opposed him on principle. I will excuse your impertinence this once, on account of your youth and your friendship with my son… But if you ever make such a suggestion again, then there will be repercussions."

Harry turned his head away, his eyes downcast, acknowledging the older wizard's dominance in the argument. Lucius nodded, satisfied, and walked back into the tent. Draco hurried over, rolling his eyes.

"Merlin Harry, you might at least say hello before you try and piss him off, you know what he's like… How are you?"

"I'm fine Draco." Harry smothered a sigh at the concerned look in his friend's eyes. "Really. I'm fine. Having a good summer?"

Draco nodded dubiously, but followed the change in conversation, filling them in on all the minutiae of his summer. Naturally, Ron found something to start an argument about – putting him near Draco was somewhat akin to lighting a firework in a small room. Fortunately, the rest of them were able to tune the bickering out, having become used to it over the years.

* * *

Spitewinter walked away from the Malfoy's tent towards the stadium, doing his best to look nonchalant. He found it difficult; he had never liked Malfoy, considering him a blight on the dark wizarding community, and having to be polite to him felt dreadful. Still, he wasn't one to disobey orders, especially after witnessing Stark's fate… At the wall of the stadium, he ducked behind some scaffolding, retreating into the shadows. A dark blonde young man was waiting for him, a large black dog at his side.

"Well?"

Spitewinter clenched his fist at Barty Crouch's rudeness – would it kill him to say hello? – but said nothing. He knew his place in the hierarchy, and wasn't going to rock the boat. It was all pointless in the grand scheme of things anyway. He shook his head at the Death Eater.

"No, Malfoy refused. Threatened me actually. I guess he didn't like being forced to do things against his will. He won't join us."

Crouch nodded thoughtfully. "We won't write him off as a loss just yet; it's possible that he'll reconsider once he finds out that our Lord is truly returned. The Malfoy's are proud, they're more likely to get behind His crusade than some ragtag bunch of copycats."

Spitewinter's eyes blazed with anger at the slight to his organisation, and his hand flew to his wand. He froze as a wand was jammed into his neck. He hadn't even realised anyone was standing behind him.

"Now now, play nicely Silas… We wouldn't want any accidents, would we?"

Spitewinter was unable to repress a shudder at the sound of Rosier's jovial tones, and he cursed mentally as he saw Crouch lower his opinion even further. What did he have to do to prove his worth to them? He had helped their Master return to a body hadn't he? Nevertheless, he moved his hand away. Rosier patted him on the back.

"Good boy." The Death Eater moved around Spitewinter to sprawl against the wall of the stadium, shimmering in the twilight as his Disillusionment charm was dispelled. He began to play around, conjuring butterflies only to blast them from the air, which seemed to amuse him. Crouch watched him, tolerantly, before turning back to Spitewinter.

"Well, you've got another chance to prove yourself to our Lord – you should enjoy this one."

"What does my Master bid me do?" Spitewinter spoke the question almost hungrily, all his anger forgotten at the prospect of serving Voldemort. Crouch smiled unpleasantly.

"You may have noticed that there are Muggles running the campsite. After the match, take some followers and deal with them will you? And any Mud-Bloods you recognise, of course."

Spitewinter smiled in genuine pleasure, and bowed low. "My Master's will be done."

"Good. Go and organise your attack Silas."

Spitewinter turned on his heel, leaving the Death Eaters behind him. They watched him go in silence. When he had disappeared, the dog beside Crouch vanished, extending upwards and changing form, until Sirius Black stood there, an arrogant sneer on his face.

"The man's a fool. Does he really think he can ever truly win the Dark Lord's favour?"

"Such fool's have their uses Sirius." Rosier spoke calmly, still destroying butterflies. "His attack tonight should be most useful."

"We could have done the same thing ourselves, and do a better job in all likelihood! I really don't understand why our Master tolerates Spitewinter…"

"To fetch and carry, and to serve as sacrificial lambs. They are cannon-fodder for the Aurors to fight while we work. Nothing more. And there's nothing to stop us having some fun tonight Sirius. It's been too long since I tore someone apart, limb by limb. I need to get back into practice, and there will be plenty of targets tonight."

"Evan, that's the most twisted thing I've heard in years." Crouch smiled with pleasure. "I've missed you."

Rosier grinned back, baring his teeth. "It's good to be back Barty."

* * *

By the end of the match, Harry was buzzing with adrenaline. He had never seen anyone fly like that! Krum moved like he was dancing, not flying – it had been beautiful to watch. Harry was quietly determined to pull off a successful Wronski Feint by the end of the year, preferably against Draco. His friend was becoming worryingly good on a broom, and it would be good to beat him like that. Of course, he was fairly certain that Draco was thinking exactly the same thing. The Cup would be fun this year.

He laughed as Fred and George began to sing a love song to Krum, mocking Ron for his enthusiasm about the Bulgarian seeker. It was an amusing contrast to the adults in the party; Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy seemed to both be pretending that the other didn't exist, rather childishly. Harry wasn't certain precisely why they didn't get on, if there was anything more than their respective ideologies, but at least they didn't brawl in the street, like some people he had heard about. He did find it ironic that their children could behave more maturely though.

"Harry? Could I have a quick word with you please?"

Harry jumped, startled. He had almost forgotten that Narcissa Malfoy was there. She had been quiet throughout the match; Harry suspected that Quidditch was not really her thing. She had spoken softly, and he appeared to be the only one that had heard.

"Of course Mrs Malfoy. Is something wrong?"

She said nothing, but walked away, beckoning him after her. Apparently, privacy was required. He followed her, noticing Lucius Malfoy looking vaguely exasperated, as if he didn't want this to happen. As he got closer to her, Harry realised that Narcissa looked concerned about something.

"I just wanted to check up on you Harry. I know you must be feeling awful about Sirius – I know that I am…"

Harry repressed a sigh. He didn't want to think about this tonight. But she carried on speaking.

"That said, I know that he was closer to you than he was to me. I just wanted you to know that justice will be carried out."

Harry frowned. Narcissa's expression suggested she was trying to get something across to him, but he had no idea what.

"I mean, Harry, that as his only surviving relative, I will take it upon myself to ensure that he is sufficiently punished."

Harry nodded in understanding. She planned to kill Sirius, or at least torture him.

"Thank you for the assurance Mrs Malfoy, but I'm afraid that I must ask you not to."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You don't wish for any revenge to be carried out against him? But Harry – "

"I don't want anyone else taking revenge against him," he cut her off. She blinked, looking shocked.

"An admirable sentiment Master Potter." Lucius had approached them, unnoticed. He looked approvingly at Harry. "You are the injured party, it is only reasonable that you wish to take matters into your own hands. Not that the Ministry would approve, of course…"

Harry just shrugged, and Malfoy's smile grew wider.

There was an explosion from the other side of the campsite.

They looked at each other uneasily, before hurrying back to the others. The Malfoy's both had their wands drawn, and Lucius looked nervous. Mr Weasley, Bill, Charlie and Percy were standing protectively in front of Ron, Ginny, the twins and Draco. Dudley was not to be seen.

"Where is he? Where's Dudley?" Harry cried out, panic flooding through him.

Mr Weasley looked at him, unsettled. "He had to go and find a toilet…" He gesticulated in the direction Dudley had gone. "Don't worry Harry, he'll be back soon and the explosion was a fair distance away, I'm sure he's fine. He's smart enough to head straight back here."

"Let's meet him halfway then!" Harry didn't wait for an answer, but ran off in the direction Mr Weasley had pointed. He heard shouts behind him, but also the sound of people running after him, so he didn't stop. His mad dash took him back into the mass of tents, and he bobbed and weaved through guy-ropes, pushing people out of the way, eliciting cries of alarm and anger. It was only a moment later that another explosion ripped through the tents, setting them on fire and blowing him off his feet. He looked up, shaking his head, and immediately wished he hadn't as a spell flew over his head, slamming into the chest of a black-robed figure in front of him with a disturbingly wet sound.

There was a small crowd of similarly dressed people – swathed in black robes, their faces obscured by blank, white, harlequin style masks. They didn't seem to have noticed him, concentrating on the spell fire coming from behind him – the Malfoys and the Weasleys presumably – and he took advantage of this to roll away from them, concealing himself behind some debris. He checked himself over for injuries, and was relieved to find that he only had a few superficial scratches.

He peeked round the debris he was using as shelter. He had been right. Arthur Weasley, along with Bill, Charlie and Mr and Mrs Malfoy, was hurling hexes at the robed figures. The only real problem seemed to be that there were so many attackers, and as Harry watched, Charlie fell to one knee, grimacing in pain as a spell slashed a vicious red line down his chest. Harry made his decision.

"_Depulso!_"

His shelter flew across the campsite, knocking down the robed figures as it went. Those who avoided it scattered, and were picked off by the Weasleys and Malfoys. Trying to cause further chaos, Harry swiftly conjured a thick cloud of smoke, which wove around the attackers, getting in their way and obscuring their vision. He then sat back and let the adults finish them off. It didn't take long. Once the last of them was subdued and bound, Lucius Malfoy strolled over to them, and prodded one with his cane. He had a look of disdain on his face.

"Who are they?" asked Ginny, her voice trembling. Harry flashed her a comforting smile, which she returned weakly.

"The Knights of the Dark Lord," Lucius drawled in response, sneering derisively. "I trust you've heard of them girl?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed at being called girl, but she restricted herself to a nod.

"Not up to your standards Malfoy?"

Harry's skin crawled at the familiar voice. They all turned round, tensing at the sight of Evan Rosier and another man, hooded and masked. Unlike the Knights, Rosier's companion was wearing a silver mask, with ornate runes and symbols graved into it. Both Death Eaters were standing next to burning tents, and the flickering flames lit them up like demons. For the first time, Harry felt afraid, and realised that they were probably under the influence of a similar spell to the one Rosier had used in their last encounter. Rosier spoke again.

"If you want more of a challenge, we're happy to oblige…"

And before any of them could move, both Death Eaters were hurling spells at them, fire and ice, conjured blades and simple curses. They gradually retreated under the Death Eater's attack, and Harry dimly heard Arthur Weasley shouting out something. Suddenly, Harry felt someone clasp his shoulder, and he whirled round. Bill was gripping his shoulder with one hand, and Draco's with the other. Charlie had the twins, and Percy, Ron and Ginny. They were clearly preparing to apparate them out.

That wasn't going to happen.

Just as Bill began to twirl on the spot, the first step towards apparating, Harry pulled away. The last thing he saw before they vanished was Draco's grin of encouragement. At least he understood that Harry couldn't just abandon Dudley. Harry turned to watch the duel – Arthur was not the best duellist he had ever seen by any stretch of the imagination, but Lucius and Narcissa were working together as a deadly team, and the combination was holding firm against the two Death Eaters. Harry took advantage of their distraction to slink away, continuing the search for Dudley.

He drew his wand as he ran, muttering "Point me Dudley" as he did so. He wasn't sure whether the Ministry would be able to track magic to his wand under the circumstances, or if they'd even try, but he could justifiably claim special circumstances. He switched directions hurriedly as the holly wand spun to point to his left, uphill, to the next part of the campsite. As he ran, he realised he could hear screaming, somewhere in front of him.

He picked up the pace.

As he crested the hill, he breathed a sigh of partial relief as he realised that the screams were from a crowd of people, all running away from burning tents, not just Dudley, who was still nowhere to be seen. He had to fight his way through the crowd, and a couple of people tried to drag him after them, apparently concerned for his safety. He was able to shrug them off, but it took valuable time.

He burst out of the crowd, and recast the spell. Dudley was still straight ahead, towards the burning tents. Harry swore at this, but carried on regardless. He rounded a smouldering tent, and jumped back as he saw another figure in black robes and a white mask. He peered back around the tent, and his heart almost stopped as he realised the man was aiming his wand at Dudley. He was saying something.

"Come on boy, defend yourself! What's the matter, too scared to hold a wand straight?"

"I… I don't have a wand…" Dudley stammered, clearly terrified. The man chuckled mirthlessly.

"I thought so. No robes, no wand – you're not even a Mudblood are you? You're just Muggle scum. Want to know what we do to Muggles?"

"Please… I haven't done anything!"

"And? Your existence is a stain on this planet! _Avada_ – "

But he got no further. As soon as Harry heard the threat, he had raised his wand. He swiftly cast two spells:

"_Expelliarmus! Depello!"_

The Disarming spell blasted the wand from the man's hand before he could utter the final syllables, and the Banishing hex threw him away from Dudley. Harry ran forward to his cousin, grabbing the fallen wand as he did so and snapping it. There was a satisfying crack. He knelt over his cousin.

"Dud, are you all right?"

Dudley said nothing, but pointed over Harry's shoulder. Slowly, Harry turned around, his pulse still pounding with adrenaline. The Knight hadn't been alone. Several others stood watching Harry and Dudley. They all clutched their wands. Harry stood up slowly, raising his wand to point at them. He felt strangely calm, despite everything.

"Back off. Now. He's done nothing to you."

"He isn't worthy of life! And you are equally guilty by your collaboration with him boy. You shall join him in death." One of the Knights began to walk forward, speaking as he did so. As yet, he had not raised his wand.

"Not going to happen. Just let us go."

"Do you really think you can take us all on boy?"

Harry shrugged. "Dudley, close your eyes. _Solaris Diem!_"

The Knights threw up their hands to shield their eyes as light blazed across the campsite. The spell, used to provide floodlights for night-time Quidditch matches, robbed them of their sight for just long enough for Harry to start on the offensive.

"_Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus! Ardesco!"_

The Knight who had spoken was blasted off his feet by the stunning curse, but the Body-Bind Charm missed, soaring over the Knights. The Burning hex was better aimed, and one of the Knights screamed as his robes began to burn. As he tried to put them out, Harry tried to knock him into his companions, attempting to spread the flames around a little. However, distracted by this, he didn't notice another Knight aiming his wand.

"_Caedis!_"

The Slashing hex cut him open, sending him spinning to the floor. Dazed with pain, he only forced himself to his feet as he heard Dudley scream. He looked up, his vision hazy, to see Dudley writhing under some form of pain curse – either a weak Cruciatus or a different spell. With difficulty, Harry aimed his wand.

"_Ossus Fragmento!_"

The spell took Dudley's tormenter in the legs, and he fell to the floor screaming as his leg bones shattered. Fearing reprisals from the others, Harry spun round, wincing in pain as he did so, and hurriedly cast a Shield charm. It was just in time; silver arrows slammed into it, exploding on the impact. Harry didn't like to think what might have happened if they had hit him or Dudley. He retaliated as fast as he could, hoisting a Knight into the air with a flick of his wand and a muttered "_Levicorpus!_", and sending another to the floor with a beautiful Striking curse.

He barely had time to appreciate this when something slammed into his back. He cried out in pain, twisting round to see what had happened. The Knight who had been torturing Dudley had recovered sufficiently to curse Harry, and he had hit him with a spell that had eaten through his clothes. Fighting the excruciating pain as best he could, Harry snapped off a Blasting jinx.

"_Reducto!_"

Harry would never know precisely what happened. Whether the pain he was in had thrown his aim; whether the Knight had moved; whether some subconscious part of him had planned it this way; whether Titus had taken control for a split second. Whatever the reason, the spell, which should have shattered the Knight's ribs, hit him in the throat. Instead of incapacitating him, it nearly took his head off. Blood fountained from the wound, and he slumped to the floor with a wet thud.

Harry stared in horror, everything else forgotten. He crawled forward, approaching the body. He reached out, dazed, and touched the wound. His fingers came away sticky with the man's blood, and he nearly vomited.

He heard the sound of someone approaching behind him, and looked back, dimly aware that there were still potential threats around.

Sirius stood there.

He surveyed the corpse with a shake of his head. He gestured, and the surviving Knights disapparated with a series of pops. He grinned down at Harry.

"Oh dear oh dear pup. What will people say about this? Good to see you again by the way."

Harry didn't respond, still too stunned by what he had done to fully comprehend that Sirius was standing in front of him once again. Sirius shook his head, disappointed by the lack of spark.

"I guess it doesn't really matter. You'll be too busy dying to care what people say." He reached out, clasping Harry's arm, much as Bill had done what felt like hours ago. But he instantly recoiled as a spell slammed into his arm. The crack of bones breaking penetrated Harry's haze, and Sirius snarled in fury.

Arthur, Lucius and Narcissa had caught up, and they did not look happy. Sirius growled, but seemed to realise that he couldn't take them all on with a broken wand-arm. Before they could cast again, he disapparated with a crack. Still feeling dazed, Harry looked back down at the body. Someone came and knelt by him.

"Harry? Harry, are you ok?" It was Dudley.

Harry shook his head. "I killed him Dud. I bloody killed him."


	4. Evaluation

**Chapter 3: Evaluation**

Harry sat very still in the interrogation room, staring blankly into space. He kept replaying that awful moment in his mind's eye, horribly aware of each drop of blood, and the look of horrified surprise on his victim's face. The shock had rendered him almost catatonic; he had barely noticed the Aurors arriving to clear up the scene, two of them leading him away to question him. He still wasn't quite sure where he stood in that regard actually. He had answered all their questions, explaining what had happened as best he could, and then they had left, leaving him locked up here. But they hadn't handcuffed him, or even cautioned him. He had rather got the impression that they didn't know what to do with him.

He supposed he ought to be more worried about this, but he was too busy wallowing in his own guilt to think about legal repercussions. He couldn't quite believe that he had killed someone.

"_Will you stop whinging about it? You want to kill Sirius don't you – just think of it as practice!_"

"How can you – " Harry began, outraged.

"_Don't talk out loud you fool! They're probably listening in!"_

Harry paused, took a breath, and carried on, thinking what he wanted to say rather than vocalising it. "How can you say that? Sirius tried to kill me, he betrayed my parents, he tried to kill Remus – Merlin only knows what else he's done!"

"_And what do you think that thug you killed had done, or would do in the future? They're working for Voldemort now, or had you forgotten?"_

"Don't remind me…"

"_Well then. It's not like you killed an innocent Harry, and he didn't have a problem with attacking you did he? Or Dudley for that matter. Would you rather that Knight and Dudley switched places?"_

"Of course not! I'd do anything to protect him, you should know that."

"_Well then, what's the problem?_"

Harry paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, trying to put them into words. "I want to learn how to fight, not to kill. That man shouldn't be dead, he should have been arrested, put on trial. I'm just a kid Titus!"

"_True. And yeah, maybe it would have been better if he'd survived and been arrested. But Voldemort is back Harry, and he's going to be coming after you – even if it's only to satisfy his pride. You're going to have to kill, and the sooner you accept that the better off you'll be._"

Harry pondered this in silence. Titus did have a point, however unpleasant it was. But that didn't change the fact that he didn't want to be a killer. He never wanted to feel like this again. But then what about Sirius? If he wasn't killed, he would go to Azkaban – the Wizarding community had no death penalty, not anymore at least. But could Harry be satisfied with seeing his godfather in a cell? Rosier was living proof that Azkaban didn't necessarily have to be a breaking experience; he had barely changed through his imprisonment there, and it could hardly get any worse. Was that good enough for Sirius, given everything he had done to Harry and his family and friends? Harry didn't think so, but could no longer state calmly that he would kill Sirius. The idea that someone else could do it was not to be considered. No-one else had the right.

His musings were interrupted by the door opening. A young woman walked in. She looked vaguely familiar, as if someone he had met had changed. Her hair was shockingly pink, and her eyes glittered with humour.

"Wotcha! Good to see you again Harry me lad – although I've got to say, I wouldn't have laid down money on it being like this!"

Harry stared at her, befuddled, and then it clicked.

"Tonks, right?"

She affected a wounded expression, placing her hand over her heart.

"You don't remember me? How can you say that – I pride myself on my er… individuality?"

Harry's lips twitched in an involuntary smile. "Sorry, but you weren't quite as lively the last time I saw you."

"Ah, true. I was in uniform wasn't I? Ok then, I'll let you off." Tonks flung herself into a seat, rocking back and perching her legs on the tabletop in front of Harry. She grinned brightly at him. "So, long time no see – plenty to catch up on! How've you been?"

Harry stared at her blankly. "School. Quidditch. People trying to kill me on a regular basis, including your cousin. You know, pretty standard stuff."

Her gaze softened, becoming more sympathetic. "Yeah… Must've been a bitch. How you coping with that?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't think it would be a good idea to tell an Auror that he was rather set on killing Sirius, however understanding and friendly she might be. "I'm dealing with it. More angry than anything else I guess. And I've got more important things to worry about at the moment."

Tonks cocked her head to the side, her curiosity evident. "What do you mean?"

"Erm… I just killed someone?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Ah, don't worry about that. Self-defence. Scrimgeour's going to take an official statement for the records, then it'll all be over."

"What?" Harry breathed, incredulously.

"Scrimgeour, head of the Aurors. Nice bloke, little strict, but – "

"No, I mean nothings going to happen to me? It's just going to be swept away? Why?"

"Self-defence Harry, like I said. No-one blames you – hell, I think Scrimgeour's actually proud of you. That's an achievement in itself you know, he's a hard guy to please." Tonks looked puzzled, as if she didn't quite understand Harry's problem. "I'd have thought you'd be _pleased_."

Harry shook his head. "I killed someone Tonks – surely something ought to happen to me?"

Her expression cleared as understanding dawned. "Harry, I know you must feel awful right now – but you did the best you could. It might not have been the right thing, but you can't predict what's going to happen. You just have to do what you can and hope for the best. You saved your cousin. You survived. All in all, you did pretty well kiddo."

Harry looked away, not wanting to meet her eyes. An awkward silence fell over the room.

* * *

Peter and Scrimgeour watched Harry and Tonks through the charmed mirror. Scrimgeour had found the conversation rather interesting, not to mention pleasing. For Peter, it had just made him want to go and envelop Harry in a hug, a feeling he did not often experience. Peter was not the emotional type. Scrimgeour turned to him.

"You're sure it was an accident then? I mean, I believe the statement, but I value your opinion as well Pettigrew…"

Peter nodded decisively. "Harry's not a killer. He hasn't got that instinct. He might kill, if forced to by circumstances. But he'll never enjoy it, and he'll always look for another way. Well, maybe not with Voldemort. Or Sirius," he added as an afterthought.

Scrimgeour grunted. "You believe the rumours then? You really think he's coming back?"

Peter nodded, grimfaced. "How can you not? Rosier escaping, Sirius revealing his true colours, last night – hardly coincidence. The Knights would never have had that kind of courage a year ago! They know that we'll be fighting again soon, count on it. And Dumbledore's picked up a thing or two."

Scrimgeour scowled at the mention of the Headmaster. "Wish he'd share it with us, instead of sending his own little gang off to investigate."

"I'd have gone anyway – it's not the Aurors job to protect Harry."

"It's not yours either."

"Yes it is." Peter took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. His eyes were fixed on Harry, unblinking. "I refused to be their Secret Keeper; I thought I'd be too much of a target because of the people I'd assassinated – thought I'd just be a risk. If I hadn't, James and Lily might be here today. Sirius might have been caught earlier. I've learnt the hard way about responsibility Rufus."

"I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Peter shrugged. "Not many people do. I'm not sure even Sirius knew that he was second choice. They were too worried about offending him" he said, a sardonic grin flitting across his lips.

"I'd have thought he'd be first choice anyway; no offense, but James was always closer to him than you."

"I think they wanted me to stop being an assassin; if I was in hiding, I couldn't go around killing people. Besides, I was considered a little less excitable than Sirius – they felt they could rely on me to take being cooped up in a calm fashion."

"Shows how much they knew; Black must be the calmest person I've ever met to pull that one off."

Peter nodded, absently. "Was Tonks right? Is he going to be punished?"

"No, don't worry about that. Quite apart from anything else, who cares about some dead terrorist wannabe? His family might, but they aren't going to admit that their darling boy was mixed up with the Knights, and they can't exactly claim he wasn't. Add politics into the mix, and he'll be just fine."

Peter smiled in satisfaction, and moved towards the door. "Thanks Rufus. Good to know _some _politicians are good for something."

"Happy to help – kid deserves a break. I'll have one final word with him, then you can take him home."

* * *

Tonks broke off as the door opened, and a severe looking man walked in. He was tall and imposing, with grey-flecked hair and blazing eyes, and although he walked with a limp, there was no discernable weakness in him. Harry thought he looked rather like a lion. He jerked his head, and Tonks leapt out of her seat, winking at Harry as she hurried from the room. The man eased himself into the chair she had vacated, and leant back, examining Harry leisurely. He had a piercing gaze, and Harry felt most uncomfortable under it. Eventually, he reached his hand out to Harry, looking almost friendly.

"Harry Potter. Pleasure to meet you – my name is Rufus Scrimgeour, I'm head of the Aurors."

Harry shook the proffered hand warily, unsure what was coming. Scrimgeour smiled at him, and flicked through his notes quickly.

"So, how are you feeling? Never easy is it?"

Harry shook his head, remaining silent. He wasn't going to talk until he had a better idea of where it was all going. Scrimgeour shrugged, and sighed. He dropped the notes onto the table, and leaned back.

"Don't look so gloomy, nothing's going to happen to you, for various reasons. We don't prosecute people for self-defence, that would be ridiculous. Although a little more care in future would be appreciated, alright?"

His wry chuckle at his last statement managed to drag a brief smile out of Harry, reluctantly.

"That's better! Now then, let's just go over it one last time, and then you can go, alright? I'm sure your family and friends are getting a little worried, so I'll try not to keep you too long."

So Harry went over it again, carefully listing every fact that he thought relevant, in a flat monotone. Scrimgeour listened in silence, nodding occasionally and taking quick notes. Harry's voice broke when describing the death of the Knight, and he looked away, unable to meet the Auror's eyes. He paused for a moment, collecting himself, before finishing his story as quickly as possible. When he had finished, Scrimgeour stood up, beckoning Harry to follow him. As they moved, Harry spoke up.

"Sir… It feels, I dunno, it feels _wrong_ that I'm not going to get punished. I killed him!"

Scrimgeour turned to face him, a concerned expression on his face. "Tell you what Harry. If you can think up anything I can do to you that will make you feel worse, that will punish you more than you're already doing yourself, you let me know, ok?"

Harry turned away, unable to respond. Scrimgeour put his hand on Harry's back, guiding him gently through the door, to where Peter was waiting. Harry acknowledged his presence with a small smile, and Peter pulled him into a hug. Harry wrapped his arms around him, and Peter looked over his head, his eyes full of gratitude to Scrimgeour. The Auror nodded, and walked away quietly.


	5. Interlude: Perceptions and Plotting

**Interlude: Perceptions and Plotting**

**Chaos at Cup!**

_Aurors left baffled by vicious attacks_

By _Daily Prophet_ reporter Rita Skeeter

The Quidditch World Cup descended into anarchy last night, as a militant group, the self-proclaimed 'Knights of the Dark Lord', attacked sports fans shortly after the match had finished. They rampaged through the campsite, attacking everyone they saw, but singling out those who were identifiably Muggle born. Sadly, the Ministry had seen fit to hire Confunded Muggles to run the campsite – three employees were killed before the Aurors dragged themselves to the scene, and several Muggleborn wizards and witches were badly injured.

There is little surprise in the Knights' choice of target; they are well known for their racist beliefs and their support of You-Know-Who. However, this is the first time they have attacked in such force, limiting themselves in the past to skirmishes in the streets. Aurors declined to comment on this step up in activity, a worrying sign in itself. Either they are aware of some dynamic shift in the Knights' agenda, or – far more likely, in this reporter's view – they are simply too incompetent to understand why this has happened. No prisoners were taken, although my sources suggest that one Knight was killed in a fight with an innocent civilian.

If this is the case, then I applaud the individual who took such a stand. At a time when the Aurors are little more than glorified bureaucrats, every citizen needs to stand up for their own rights and safety…

_Cont. p.2_

* * *

Sirius read the report with mixed feelings. In almost every respect, the mission had been a total failure. They had failed to recruit the Malfoy family, they had failed – or more specifically, _he_ had failed to capture Harry, and one of the Knights had been killed, providing a possible link to the rest of the organisation. The Dark Lord was not going to be pleased. Still, the attack had achieved something at least; confidence in the Ministry was nearly as low as it had been during the war, an excellent position for his Master to be in.

He was still nervous about telling him how badly everything had gone though. It wasn't as if it was the first time that he had failed the Dark Lord in recent weeks – but if he had only known how important the diary had been! He would never have given it away, never have let it be destroyed if he had known that by doing so he risked his Master's life! The Dark Lord's fury had been terrible, and Sirius had experienced the effects of Rosier's vivid imagination first hand for his blunder. It had held up the Dark Lord's restoration as well, as the diary's destruction had required another trip to Albania, to retrieve the diadem they had melted in the ritual.

He shook himself mentally. No use dwelling on the past. Thinking about it would only make the Dark Lord remember it as well, for one thing. Sirius's Occlumency shields were superb, but he never dared to raise them when in the presence of his Master. He threw the paper aside and stood up, grimacing to Crouch as he did so. "Better go and tell Him the bad news…"

"Good luck!" Crouch called after him. Sirius acknowledged him with a wave, not turning back as he made his way into his Master's chambers. The Dark Lord was sat in a high backed chair, facing the fire. Nagini was wound around the chair, and they were hissing softly to each other. Sirius sank to his knees, his eyes on the floor, waiting for his Master to address him.

"Ah… Sirius. My most faithful servant. Nagini tells me that you have no news for me." The Dark Lord sounded quietly amused, drawling, and Sirius shivered, knowing that this was not a terribly good sign. "She tells me that there are no new scents for her, no new people – am I to take it that Harry Potter has not come to join us? That Malfoy rejected our approach?" Sirius was silent. There was a moment's pause, and then the Dark Lord sighed. "Rise, Sirius. Approach and look upon me."

Sirius jumped to his feet, almost bounding over to the chair, where he knelt once more, his eyes fixed upon the scaly form hunched in the chair. He did not notice its hideousness – to him, it was a strangely beautiful sight, a product of pure magic and will. It was an honour for him to have taken part in its creation. The Dark Lord's red eyes flickered in amusement, and Sirius realised that He had invaded his mind.

"Give your report Black. Tell me everything that happened."

So he did. Everything; Malfoy's dismissal of Spitewinter, Rosier and Crouch's attack on Harry's protectors, his own attempt to grab Harry, and the death of the Knight at Harry's hands. At this, the Dark Lord hissed in surprise.

"He killed someone? Surprising… I would not have thought the boy had it in him. How did he react?"

"He was almost catatonic my Lord. He barely recognised me. It was not done deliberately, I am sure of that."

"How disappointing… there can be no true pleasure in an opponent who is not willing to do his utmost to survive. Ah well, I suppose it makes our plans a little easier. Is this public knowledge?"

"Only myself and other Knights were present my Lord. There was no mention of him in the Daily Prophet, certainly. It would be easy enough to let the rumour spread, but that risks incriminating our allies."

"True… But if the public knew of this… Something to consider."

Sirius bowed his head in acknowledgment, concealing his confusion. He couldn't quite see what benefit would be gained from it being widely known that Harry had killed someone in self-defence. His musings were interrupted by the door of the room being flung open. Two people rushed in; the first, a young man, his long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and his blue eyes streaming with tears, was followed by a desperate looking woman, much older than the man. There was a resemblance between them – mother and son, Sirius speculated?

The young man strode over to the Dark Lord's chair without waiting to be acknowledged, and Sirius took a step back. The woman tried to follow, but he raised his arm, holding her back with a glare. She was trembling in fear, he realised. She at least knew that this was a foolish notion. The young man didn't even kneel.

"My brother is dead. Dead! In your service! And your followers do nothing – I know who killed him, and I know my rights!"

"Your rights? And what might those be?" The Dark Lord's voice was toneless, betraying nothing. Foolishly, the young man seemed to take this as a good thing.

"The boy's life is mine!" Sirius nearly choked at the young man's words. Claiming a right to Harry Potter's life? To the Dark Lord himself? To his side, the woman sighed despairingly. "It is my right and my duty to avenge my brother's death, I demand it – "

"_Crucio_." Sirius spoke the curse lazily, ignoring the woman's pleas as her son's screams of agony rang around the room. The Dark Lord watched, silent and still, his red eyes and the flickering firelight combining to give him an almost demonic air. He hissed in pleasure as blood began to stream from the young man's nose, blood vessels bursting under the pain Sirius was inflicting on him.

"My Lord, he meant no disrespect! Please my Lord, I beg of you, spare him – he only wants to act as a true Pureblood!"

Sirius rolled his eyes at this, sure that he would be cursing the woman for her impertinence as well, but the Dark Lord seemed not to have heard her. A moment later though, he raised his hand, and Sirius instantly ended the curse. The young man curled into a ball, panting heavily, covered in his own blood and his face wracked with pain. Sirius marched forward, grabbing the man's ponytail and dragging him to his knees, facing the Dark Lord. His Master leant forward.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Jed… Jedgar. Jedgar Darrow." The young man was rigid with fear, shivering under the Dark Lord's intense gaze.

"Well then, Jedgar. Remember this: if you ever _demand_ anything of me again, _ever_ – then you will die in agony. Do you understand me?" As the Dark Lord hissed at Darrow, Nagini unwound from the chair, slithering around the terrified young man, her tongue flickering, tasting his fear. Darrow gave a jerk of his head, too scared even to speak, and the Dark Lord nodded. Sirius released him, throwing him back to the floor. Darrow had learnt his lesson. He remained where he was, not raising his head. The Dark Lord smiled, grimly amused. "Excellent. Understand this Darrow. Potter is mine. Mine and no-one else's. However… I may see fit to allow you to play with him, briefly… Your revenge may serve some useful purpose. But it shall be at my discretion, understand? Any attempt to attack Potter without my express permission will result in your mother's violent death." Darrow nodded, still not looking up. "Good. Now get out."

The Darrow's fled the room, Jedgar's mother supporting him. Sirius watched them go, curious as to what his Lord had in mind. The Dark Lord's voice summoned him back from his thoughts. His Master had a devious expression on his face, as if plotting something. "Since you failed to bring me Potter, we shall have to resort to plan B Sirius."

"Plan B, my Lord?" Sirius asked, confused.

"What has Bartemius told you about the Triwizard Tournament?"


	6. The Triwizard Tournament

**

* * *

**

Chapter 4: The Triwizard Tournament

Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express on September 1st with a rather dazed expression. He couldn't quite believe that a mere fortnight after killing someone in a duel, he was heading back to school. The stares and shouts of greeting that followed him, always annoying, since he barely knew any of them, took on a deeper meaning for him know. Even though he knew that only his friends and family knew what had happened at the World Cup, plus a few Aurors, he couldn't help but feel that people were talking behind his back, muttering about him being a murderer.

He swiftly ducked into an empty compartment, tucking the collar of his cloak up around his face and looking out of the window, trying to hide as best he could. A few minutes later, the door slid open, and Hermione appeared.

"Hi there!" She grabbed him enthusiastically, hugging him tightly, before flopping into a seat, beaming brightly. Harry grinned back, uneasily. He hadn't told Hermione or Neville what had happened yet. "So, how was your summer? I was so worried when I heard about what happened at the Cup – it would have been nice to hear from you personally you know…"

Harry winced at his friend's rather unsubtle jibe, but he couldn't really argue. He just hadn't been able to face lying to her, and he felt that confessing to having killed someone was perhaps best done in person. "Yeah… Sorry about that, I just – well, it was quite a busy time, you know."

Hermione's face softened. "Yes, Ron said that Dudley was attacked. Is he ok?"

Harry nodded. "He was a little shaken, but he only got a few bruises. He's fine." Dudley had also been intensely grateful, as had Vernon and Petunia. They had said nothing about what Harry had done to save Dudley, only heaped their thanks on him. He had rather wished they wouldn't. He didn't much want to think about it, and their stammering gratitude kept pushing the fight to the front of his mind. More than once he had woken, breathing heavily and streaming with sweat because he had been replaying it in his mind – the pain in his back, his automatic retaliation, and the wet crack as the Knight's throat was destroyed, replaced by a thick river of blood. He would give anything for a Memory charm to blot out the sight, but Peter and Remus didn't seem to think it was a good idea.

Blinking, forcing such morbid thoughts away, Harry realised that Hermione had been talking, and he had no idea about what. She didn't seem to have noticed that he had tuned out though, and he rapidly picked up that she was ranting about the reports in the Prophet, the handiwork of Rita Skeeter. This gave him a pleasant twinge of amusement; he knew what Rita was like, and her report had not surprised him in the slightest.

"Everyone knows what Rita's like Hermione, they can read between the lines."

Hermione frowned at him. "I'm not so sure. Reporters like her have a lot of sway Harry, she could do a lot of damage to the Ministry if she tried."

"She's been slagging off Fudge for years, he's still in power isn't he? She's even written some critical stuff about me, and I've survived." Harry shrugged, unconcerned.

"So far maybe; just make sure she never gets any real dirt on you, ok? Not that there is any, I'm sure." Hermione warned him. Harry blinked, and looked away sharply. This did not escape Hermione's keen eye. "Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry was spared immediate answer by Neville's entry to the compartment, tanned from a summer spent – according to his letters – working in his grandmother's greenhouse. Apparently, she was starting to gain an appreciation of his talents, however different to his father's they were. However, Hermione was nothing if not tenacious. After greetings and hugs had been exchanged, she turned back to Harry, a dogged expression on her face.

"Come on Harry, what's wrong? You nearly went white when I mentioned Skeeter having dirt on you!"

Harry took a deep breath, preparing himself. Might as well get it over and done with… "There's something I need to tell you guys…"

* * *

It seemed appropriate to Harry that it was raining when they arrived in Hogsmeade. It fitted his mood perfectly. The train journey had been less than enjoyable. Hermione and Neville had both been horrified to hear what had happened, although Hermione had been more horrified that Harry had had to go through such a traumatic experience. Neville seemed more disapproving than anything, which irked Harry slightly. He had decided to refrain from saying anything on that subject for the moment though, thinking that there would be better moments for such a discussion. There could hardly be worse ones. The mood had lifted somewhat with the arrival of the Weasleys, who had defended Harry staunchly. The news that the Knights' had been about to kill Dudley, not just hurt him, had rather softened Neville's frown, and only made Hermione hug him tighter, until he was genuinely afraid that his ribs would crack.

Still, the journey had never quite recovered from that shock. They had travelled in silence for a while, before Hermione broke the silence by asking who they thought would be teaching Defence this year. This topic – and the banter concerning Hermione's academic obsession – had brightened things considerably, but the fact that Harry had blood on his hands overshadowed everything.

The rain hadn't stopped by the time the carriages arrived at Hogwarts, and Harry's mood was not improved by Peeves' welcome back present. At least they were already wet. As the cackling poltergeist zoomed off into the distance followed by Filch's screams of rage, Harry and Hermione cast warming charms over themselves and their friends, drying them out for the feast. The Sorting Hat's song was even more tedious than normal, and for once Harry was not really interested in the Sorting. He just wanted food. Eventually, the last first year had been sorted, and Dumbledore stood to address them briefly.

"Welcome back to you – or welcome for the first time, as it may be. I'm sure the weather has helped you to build up a healthy appetite, so I would just like to say a few quick words before we eat: zoom and whoosh. Thank you, enjoy the feast!"

There was befuddled silence across the hall, interrupted by a few quiet sniggers in isolated corners of the room. Harry saw Professor McGonagall roll her eyes wearily before he distracted himself with some steak and kidney pie. He saw Hermione smiling, and asked her what precisely had been so funny about it.

"It was a joke – a few quick words, zoom and whoosh." She explained. Harry stared at her, and then the penny dropped. He groaned, and turned to stare at Dumbledore. The Headmaster was listening attentively to Professor Trelawney, who seemed to be spouting some more of her usual gibberish.

"He really should learn not to tell jokes – he's useless at them!" Ginny exclaimed, the joke finally making sense to her as well. Hermione shrugged.

"I guess it's true, nobody's perfect."

The quality of the food did much to restore Harry's equilibrium, and he eventually settled back, unable to finish his second helping of treacle-tart. He wasn't the only one, and the feast gradually wound down. As the last few students finished eating (Ron amongst them, typically), Dumbledore stood up once more, for his proper speech.

"Now that we are restored, and you are too gorged on fine food to pay any attention to me, I have a few announcements that must be made. First of all, Mr Filch has once more updated the list of banned items, and it is available to peruse in his office, should you feel a pressing urge to do so." Fred and George grinned at each other, and Harry suspected that they were trying to work out how many things they would be able to obtain over the next year. "Secondly, as always, the Forbidden Forest at the edge of the grounds is, naturally, forbidden. This applies to all years." Again, Fred and George grinned at each other, before plastering innocent expressions over their faces. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"Thirdly, I regret to inform you all that there will be no Quidditch tournament at Hogwarts this year." The announcement was met with uproar. Half the students in the hall were on their feet, yelling at Dumbledore and ignoring calls from their respective heads of house to quiet down. For his part, Harry was too stunned to say anything. No Quidditch? That was insane, it wouldn't be Hogwarts without Quidditch! Eventually, Dumbledore resorted to giving off a loud bang from his wand, and the students fell silent.

"It is heart-warming to see you all so enthusiastic about school activities… However, I think that I can promise you all an adequate substitute. This year, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament, for the first time in over a hundred years!"

There was shocked silence, before Fred's voice cut the air. "The Triwizard Tournament? Fucking hell…"

"Mr Weasley! Detention!" Professor McGonagall was barely audible over the uproarious laughter Fred's exclamation had provoked. Even Dumbledore looked like he was repressing a smile. Ginny looked like she was having a heart attack, and George patted his brother's back sympathetically. They all knew that a Howler would be arriving in the next few days.

"Well quite Mr Weasley. Very… succinctly put." Dumbledore continued, his eyes twinkling. "For those of you who are unaware of the history of this prestigious event, I shall provide a brief explanation; feel free to let your minds wander should you so wish."

Harry did indeed let his mind wander. He had read about the Tournament, and found the idea both exciting and horrifying. He knew that competitors had died in previous Tournaments, but he also knew that it was an opportunity to watch the finest wizards and witches of their generation tackle tremendous tasks. Watching from the sidelines would be great fun, he decided. The Tournament had a reputation for spectacle.

As Dumbledore finished his explanation (Harry was relieved to find that he would not be able to compete even if he wished to), the main doors of the hall burst open, and a horrifying figure was revealed. He leant on a tall staff, with some kind of animal's head carved into its tip, and where his bulky greatcoat was swept aside – for ease of access to his wand, if Harry was any judge – there was a silvery gleam on his left leg. It was his face that attracted the most attention though. The man was ugly – exceptionally so. He would have been even if it hadn't been for the mass of scars and the bulging blue eye that was strapped to his face. As the students stared in stunned silence, the eye swivelled round, looking at them all.

"Ah, of course. I hope you will all join me in welcoming our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody." Dumbledore called out. He started to applaud, as did Hagrid, but no one else joined in. Harry wasn't surprised. Moody didn't have a particularly welcoming demeanour, even if you didn't know his reputation, as many in the room would. He didn't seem to care about his cool reception though. He flicked his magical eye over the hall once more, and seemed to realise that the feast was winding up. He didn't bother taking his seat at the staff table, but instead leant against the wall, watching the students. As Harry turned away, he saw Moody take a swig from a flask.

It was only a few more minutes before Dumbledore dismissed them. To Harry's surprise, Snape was the first to leave, striding through the main doors, his robes billowing. Then he saw Moody call out to the Potions Master. Snape halted, not looking at Moody. He said something else, which Snape again ignored, and then he resumed his exit. Moody grinned, savagely. It was an unsettling sight, and Harry wondered precisely what history was between them. Moody surely knew that Snape had been a double agent, not a genuine Death Eater?

The students began to make their way out of the hall, and Moody began to look over them, as if searching for something. Or, as Harry realised a moment later, some_one_. When Moody's eye fell upon Harry, the ex-Auror's face lit up.

"Potter! Follow me. Now." Moody stomped off, the ring of his staff hitting the floor punctuating his departure. Harry exchanged a nervous glance with his friends. Neville shrugged.

"Go on. We'll see you in a bit – for Merlin's sake try not to piss him off!"

Rolling his eyes at this, Harry hurried after Moody, trying to catch up with him. He moved surprisingly quickly for someone of his age and condition. Moody was waiting for him by the door to a classroom. He pushed it open, and gestured inside. "Come on Potter, we haven't got all night."

Harry blinked, puzzled, but stepped inside, in front of Moody. "Don't be an idiot Potter!" Harry jumped, whirling round. Moody had stepped inside the classroom, shutting the door behind him, and he did not look happy. "You've never met me before, you have no idea who I am – what do you think you're playing at, letting me get behind you? I could be anybody! Constant Vigilance boy, constant vigilance!"

Harry opened and closed his mouth in shocked silence, trying to form words, but Moody was directing him towards a seat. Moody perched on a desk, glowering at him. "I've been hearing a lot about you, last couple of weeks. I've got my friends in the Ministry Potter, you might as well know that. And not all of what I hear is good. Only just fourteen, and already a killer."

Harry froze, staring Moody in the eyes. "I'm not a killer." He said quietly.

"What was that? Did you say something?"

"I said, I'm not a killer." Harry spoke each word slowly, carefully, making sure Moody couldn't even pretend not to hear him.

"Is that right? So you didn't nearly take someone's head off at the World Cup then? That was someone else was it?" Moody's tone was brutally sardonic, and Harry really wished that he would _blink_. That eye was beginning to freak him out.

"No, I – that was me, but I didn't mean to do it!"

"Prove it." Moody spoke without emotion, still staring at Harry intently.

"What? How – how am I supposed to prove that?" Harry was beginning to feel scared now. He knew Moody's reputation, and knew that he didn't approve of killing, despite pushing the limits of the Ministry's tolerance for dark magic himself.

"Can't do it eh? Well then, why should I teach you more ways to kill people?"

"I am _not _a killer!" Harry shouted, and there was a loud crack, accompanied by an almost painful pulse in his magic. The doors of the cupboard in the corner of the room fell off, caught in a silent wind before they hit the floor. They began to float behind Harry, just as Moody's staff was thrown from his hand. It clattered against the wall, pinned there by Harry's magic. Moody stared at him appraisingly, while Harry felt shock begin to set in. He had basically just assaulted a teacher. A teacher who already thought he was a killer. He was going to be in so much trouble…

"Hmm. All right, you can stop that." Moody jumped off the table, and limped over to retrieve his staff. Harry watched him warily, and when Moody turned back, he sighed in exasperation. Too quick for Harry to see, he had drawn his wand and banished the cupboard doors floating behind Harry. They flew back to the cupboard, and Moody reattached them with another flick of his wand. He turned back to Harry, who was now looking very confused. "It was a test. Understand that Potter? I did hear what happened, and it's obvious that it was an accident – I just wanted to find out whether you really were that incompetent before I let you loose in a practical lesson."

Harry blinked incredulously. A _test_? This had all been a _test_! "And what have you concluded sir?" he asked, in tones of heavy sarcasm. His earlier panic was swiftly being replaced with anger.

Strangely, Moody seemed to appreciate this attitude. He smiled grimly. "That not only are you dangerously incompetent, you're very powerful and stupidly reckless to boot. A bad combination Potter. We're going to have to work on that aren't we?"

Harry clenched his fists. Moody glared at him. "Just nod Potter."

Harry nodded, stiffly. "Yes sir."

"Glad you agree. Get back to your common room. I'll see you in class."

Harry left the room without another word. He wasn't sure he liked Moody all that much.


	7. Unforgivable Behaviour

**Chapter 5: Unforgivable Behaviour**

Harry approached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with mixed feelings. Ever since Moody's first lesson, the castle had been ablaze with talk of his knowledge, of his dynamic teaching style. Fred and George in particular practically worshipped the man. Of course, most people weren't aware of Harry's meeting with him after the feast; he had only told his closest friends. They had been suitably appalled, although not having experienced it themselves, their indignation had been drained by Moody's mystique. Hermione in particular was fascinated by what the former Auror might be teaching them.

The students queued up outside the classroom were unusually quiet, their anticipation subduing them more effectively than even one of Snape's diatribes. Harry took his place in silence, feeling himself tense up. Bang on the hour, the door of the classroom swung open, and they heard Moody's distinctive gruff tones, ordering them in. They filed in swiftly, taking seats and fixing their gaze on Moody, who was standing at the front of the room, leaning heavily on his staff. Once they were all settled, he began.

"Settle down, all of you. You should know that I expect _complete_ silence in my lessons, aside from practical work. You are here to learn, not to gossip or socialise. Anybody not paying attention – or worse, messing around – will be barred from the lesson for the duration of my employment here. I'm here to teach you how to defend yourselves, and I'm not going to tolerate people wasting my time or getting other people injured because of incompetence or laziness."

Harry might have been imagining it, but he was sure that Moody's magical eye fixed on him at that point. He forced himself not to look away, concentrating on looking attentive rather than resentful. He thought he saw Moody's lips twitch in amusement.

"Now, I've been having a look back over your previous lessons, and you're badly behind – hardly your fault, Quirrell and Lockhart barely taught you anything, and Lupin seems to have concentrated on magical creatures, good though his lessons might have been. Doesn't look like you know much about curses though." At this, Moody smiled grimly. "So it's a good job you've got a former Auror to put you through your paces isn't it!"

He drew his wand – again, so quickly that Harry could barely see the action – and flicked it at the blackboard. The chalk rose into the air, and started to write. Moody continued with his speech as the chalk wrote things down. "We might as well start with the big ones – the Unforgivable Curses. There are three: can anyone tell me what they are?"

There was silence in the wake of this. None of them had expected such casual discussion of the three most infamous spells in the world. Moody's eye swept over the room, and he started to tap his foot impatiently. "None of you? You really are behind aren't you… not even the glimmer of an idea?"

Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, Ron raised a tentative hand. Moody speared him with a look, and nodded to him encouragingly. Ron swallowed nervously. "Well, there's this one my dad told me about – the Imperious Curse? Something like that?"

Moody nodded, pleased. "That's right – gave the Ministry a lot of trouble during the war that one did." At the blackboard, the chalk began to put up some notes on the curse. "It takes away your will, places you entirely under your attacker's control. You're barely even aware of what you're doing. Takes real force of will to break out of it – or experience of course. You'll be getting that later in the term."

This time, the silence had an almost physical presence. Hermione raised a trembling hand, her eyes wide.

"Professor… Are you seriously telling us that you're going to be using the Unforgivables on us?"

Moody stared at her for a moment, weighing her up. "Not all of them Miss Granger. The Imperious is the only one with a defence other than dodging, so I'll be doing everything I can to make sure you can stand up to it – with Dumbledore's agreement, naturally. Of course, if you object to this, you don't have to stay in the lesson. The door is over there."

Hermione froze up, the very idea of leaving clearly abhorrent to her. Moody nodded decisively, and turned to his desk. Reaching out, he picked up a jar, and taking off the lid, he plucked out a spider. In the seat next to Harry, Ron shuddered, and jerked backwards. Despite the sombre mood, Harry smirked. With a tap of his wand, Moody enlarged the spider, and followed this with a bark of "_Imperio!_" The spider shivered, once, and then went unnaturally still. Moody began to wave his wand, casually, and the spider started to dance. A few giggles rolled round the room, and Moody looked out at the class encouragingly. "Come on then – what else shall we make it do?" Suggestions began to be called out, and Moody followed them, almost playfully. Draco, however, was watching the proceedings with distaste, slumped back in his seat, his arms folded. It wasn't long before Moody noticed.

"Mr Malfoy? Not going to join in the fun?"

Draco sneered. "I wouldn't much like it if it was done to me. My mind is my own – this is horrible."

Moody smiled. "It is indeed, Mr Malfoy." He turned his gaze on the rest of the class, suddenly looking disgusted with them. "And you all think it's funny – would you like it if I told it to drown itself? Jump out of the window? Would you like it if I did this to you?"

Silence fell once again, many of the students looking down, shamefaced. Moody shrugged, and put the spider down again. "So. That's the Imperious Curse. What are the others?"

Unexpectedly, Neville was the first person to put his hand up, with the air of someone resigned to seeing something he didn't want to. "The Cruciatus Curse."

Moody said nothing. He walked over to Neville's desk, and looked down into his eyes for a long, silent moment. Then he nodded. "Yes, you would know about that wouldn't you boy…" He turned away abruptly, walking back to his desk, and the spider. "The Cruciatus Curse – causes unimaginable pain to those held under it. For obvious reasons, I will _not_ be demonstrating this on any of you, worry not Miss Granger. However…" He raised his wand again, and aimed at the spider. "_Crucio!_"

Harry wasn't sure why he found the spider's wracked body so horrifying. Was it the awful positions the pain made it contort into? Or was it his own prior experiences with the curse, giving him a deeper insight into the curse's effects? Whatever it was, he could not keep his eyes on it. He turned away, thankful that he couldn't hear what was going on.

"Stop it. Please." Neville's voice was trembling, and Harry looked up. His friend was gripping his desk as if it was the only thing supporting him. Somewhat to Harry's surprise, Moody lifted the curse instantly. He shot Neville an almost concerned look, and then looked at Harry. Harry looked away. He knew what was coming, but he wasn't going to volunteer it. Moody didn't ask though.

"And finally, the Killing Curse."

Despite himself, Harry turned back to the desk, watching the spider intently, unblinking. It was still shaking, still feeling the effects of the Cruciatus. His vision narrowed, the spider filling his gaze, and he didn't see Moody raise his wand.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

There was a flash of green light, a rush of awful wind, and the spider's body jerked with a sudden violence, just once, before falling to the desk. Harry felt his chest tighten, and he realised that he hadn't breathed since Moody had mentioned the Killing Curse. Moody moved suddenly, and Harry tore his gaze away, blinking rapidly.

"A nasty bunch of curses, very nasty. Each one of them carries a sentence of life imprisonment in Azkaban – no appeals. I hope you're writing this down!"

There was a sudden flurry of activity, as students scrambled for quill and parchment. Harry felt as if he was moving in slow motion, still stunned. That was how his parents had died. Neville didn't seem to be coping much better, which Harry understood. Watching the Cruciatus being performed could not have been pleasant for him. He listened numbly to Moody's continuing lecture on the Unforgivables, occasionally jotting down something he felt important. But when Moody remarked that they were the worst curses anyone could use, Harry felt compelled to speak up.

"Why?"

Moody stopped midsentence, piercing him with a glare. Harry refused to look away, and repeated himself.

"What do you mean, why? Isn't it obvious?"

"Not really," Harry responded. "There are hundreds of spells that can kill you, or cause pain, or take control of you – what's so special about these three?"

Moody's stern look vanished, and he nodded in understanding. "Can anyone answer Mr Potter's question?"

A few answers were called out, variations on the spells being unblockable for the most part, but Moody shook his head. "Valid point, but no. There are plenty of curses that can't be blocked. Anything else?" Confused silence reigned. Moody shrugged. "Well, there are various reasons, not all of which apply to all the spells. One general rule is that each of them requires powerful emotion to pull off properly – you really need to _want_ to control someone, or hurt them, or kill them. These aren't spells that you can use by accident."

Harry winced at that, but Moody was still talking. "Another general reason is that they're the most powerful spells of their kind. There's no other spell that can inflict as much pain as the Cruciatus, for instance."

Hermione's hand shot up. "But from what I've read Professor, the Killing Curse isn't that bad." Moody's eyebrows shot up, and Hermione blushed, realising just how that had sounded. "I mean, it kills you instantly – no pain, no time even to realise you've been cursed. Compared to something like the Entrail-Expelling Curse, it's positively gentle."

Moody nodded, accepting the point, but was able to counter it. "That's true Miss Granger, but the Entrail-Expelling Curse can be healed. Okay, you need instant access to a Healer, but it can be survived. The Killing Curse can't... mostly, anyway. But the real reason for the Killing Curse carrying such a heavy punishment – nowadays at least – is that it always has been. Ever since Ministry records have been kept, the Killing Curse has always been listed as Unforgivable. Even before the other two had been invented. The original reason is superstition. Wizards used to believe that the Killing Curse damaged your soul, as well as killing you. They believed that people killed with the Killing Curse would never be able to merge with the Earth, which was what they believed happened when you died. Superstitious nonsense of course, but it had a good effect."

Harry listened to this, intrigued. It was an interesting idea, and it linked well with Ministry law on various rituals that affected your soul. The idea that a simple spell could do that much damage to someone was horrifying though – it went far beyond mere physical damage.

"_What a load of guff!_"

Titus's unexpected outburst made Harry jump, and he sat upright in his seat. Moody looked at him curiously, but no-one passed comment. Flushing brightly, Harry bent back to his notes, his mind on other things.

"Don't just shout out like that! You scared the life out of me – and what do you mean, it's a load of guff?"

"_No spell's that powerful. Your soul is who you are, what you are. It would take some serious power and time to do any damage to it. Rituals yes, spells no._" Titus sounded unusually pedantic, and he spoke with conviction.

"How would you know? You don't have any memories before you woke up in my head, and I don't know stuff like that."

Titus said nothing for a moment. Then, in puzzled tones: "_I'm not sure… But I know lots of spells that you don't – I've clearly got knowledge aside from your memories you know."_

"Yes, because that isn't worrying and creepy at all…" Harry shook his head, preferring not to think about the implications of that just now. He was liable to freak out if he did, and doing that in a packed classroom was not at the top of his priorities.

The second half of the lesson was much less interesting than the practical demonstrations, awful though they had been. It was a little difficult to concentrate on Moody when he lectured – his constantly moving eye was too much of a distraction. However, it passed swiftly, and soon the bell was ringing for lunch. As the class packed away their books, Moody called out.

"Potter, Longbottom! Wait behind a moment."

Harry and Neville exchanged uncertain, almost scared glances. They both knew what had happened the last time Moody had asked for a private meeting with Harry. However, they stood still, waiting for the other students to disperse. When the door finally closed, Moody approached them both, an apologetic look on his face.

"I just wanted to apologize to you lads; I know that can't have been a terribly enjoyable lesson for you." Moody looked uncomfortable – Harry rather thought the ex-Auror was a little unaccustomed to feeling guilty. He said nothing, but Neville wasn't quite so restrained.

"A little prior warning would have been nice – we didn't need to sit through that, you knew it would make us feel uncomfortable! And why are we being taught about the Unforgivables anyway? Surely they're a little more advanced than Fourth year?" Neville looked furious, his eyes narrowed.

"Dumbledore approved it – if you've got a problem, take it up with him."

"I might! What kind of Headmaster hires a teacher who plays mind-games with students, or makes them watch torture? It's appalling!"

Harry cringed at Neville's outburst, although he had to admit that his friend had a point. Moody didn't seem to agree though. He took a quick step forward, a look of fury flashing across his face, and for a moment Harry thought he was actually going to attack Neville. His hand flew to his wand, ready to defend his friend, but it was unneeded. Moody checked himself, apparently realising what he was doing, and retreated. There was silence for a moment.

"Detention Mr Longbottom, for undue criticism of a professor."

Neville opened his mouth, a furious retort clearly on the tip of his tongue, but Harry grabbed his arm, and shook his head warningly. Neville subsided, but Harry could tell that he was still seething. Moody nodded slightly, a small smile gracing his lips.

"That said, I do admire your spirit. Your parents would be proud."

That simple remark hit Neville like a sledgehammer. All the anger left his face, his jaw dropping and his eyes widening. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, as if he wanted to respond but couldn't find the words. Moody just turned to Harry.

"And despite my warning earlier in the week, nice reflexes there Potter. I've trained Aurors who were slower than that."

Harry accepted the compliment with a silent nod of the head. He was still too wary of Moody to take it solely at face value, and his judgment of him as 'dangerously incompetent, very powerful and stupidly reckless' still rankled. Still, he had to admit that Moody was unlikely to give out false compliments, even if he was trying to calm people down. Moody smiled wryly, as if he could read Harry's thoughts, and dismissed them both with a wave of his hand. Outside the classroom, they looked at each other, still a little shaken by it all.

"You alright?" Harry asked softly.

Neville hesitated, and then shook his head. It was only then that Harry realised that his friend was trembling. "That was horrible. I mean, I knew they must have suffered, but that…" He tailed off, looking at Harry awkwardly. Harry shrugged, a little embarrassed.

"I know what happened. It's in some of the books about the war, so… Yeah."

"You never said anything."

Harry shrugged again. "I only really found out last year. You've never wanted to talk about why you live with your Gran before, so I didn't want to raise the subject myself. Sorry."

Neville smiled weakly. "Don't be, you weren't wrong. It's not something I really like to think about – and Moody had to know what happened to them, he worked with them! He could have just said something before the lesson, but no, we had to see it!" He shook his head incredulously, his anger returning. "What's Dumbledore playing at? You'd think he'd apply a little more common sense when he hires teachers, wouldn't you?"

Harry laughed bitterly. "Snape still teaches here doesn't he?"

"Oh yeah, fair point…"

* * *

"_Harry? Time to go…_"

Harry's eyes snapped open instantly. Whatever else Titus was, he was very useful as an alarm clock. He dressed swiftly, wrapping up warm and taking out his Invisibility Cloak. Wrapping it around himself, he cast a couple of Silencing Charms. Now completely silent, as well as invisible, he made his way from the dorm. The common room was blessedly empty, and the Fat Lady was half asleep. He slipped out of the portrait door, and made his way down to the second floor.

There was a small trickle of water seeping out from under the door to the bathroom. Apparently Myrtle had had a tantrum fairly recently. That could make things a little awkward; Harry wanted her in a good mood. He opened the door with a gentle push, and crept into the bathroom. Fortunately, Myrtle was nowhere to be seen. Wasting no time, Harry approached the sinks in the middle of the room, and found the right one. The one with the snake carved into it.

"_Open…"_ he hissed at it.

The sinks cracked, shifting apart with a loud grinding noise, revealing the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Harry winced at the noise, and dived through the hole as quickly as he could. He didn't want Filch finding him here. It was the first time he had experienced the slide down, having been unconscious when he had last come here. He shot out of the end of the pipe at high speed, landing face first in the mud at the bottom. In his head, Titus sniggered, and Harry scowled. He lit the tip of his wand, and set off down the passageway, bones crunching under his feet, the steady drip of water from the ceiling doing nothing for his nerves. He was beginning to think that this was a bad idea. However, before long, he had reached the ornately carved door, and with another hiss, he opened it.

The Chamber was much as he remembered it. The statue of Salazar Slytherin still dominated the room, his monkey like face sneering down at Harry as if he knew of his plans, and disapproved. Despite the wand light, Harry could not see the ceiling, which was shrouded in inky darkness. As he walked, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, his foot hit something, painfully. Swearing under his breath, he looked down, and instantly turned away, gagging. Despite being stone, he could still identify Gilderoy Lockhart's head, expression permanently frozen in terror, his corpse shattered by the Basilisk. Now that he looked, he could see other pieces of stone as well. Was that an arm? He moved away from the macabre sight hastily, not looking where he was going, and gasped in shock as he rebounded off something smooth and dry. He whirled round, his wand raised, and nearly screamed. He had walked into the Basilisk, right next to its ruined eye-socket, blood and venom dried onto the gaping wound.

"This is stupid…" he muttered under his breath. Shutting his eyes tightly, he cried out "_Solaris diem_!" As had happened at the World Cup, a huge ball of light blasted from the tip of his wand, lighting up the entire Chamber. He looked round, assessing the effect the spell had had. That was better – there was barely a corner of the Chamber that wasn't illuminated.

"_Excellent, just like we thought. There's plenty of space here. And the Basilisk will make a good target for you to practice against. Did you bring the list?"_

"Of course I did, how much of an idiot do you think I am? Actually, don't answer that…" Harry walked away from the Basilisk, clearing some space with his wand as he did so. Once he was a suitable distance away, he turned back, entering an en guarde position.

"_Right, let's see how much you learnt shall we? Show Moody what you're made of… Attack!"_

Harry swung his wand down with a slash, muttering the incantation for a Cutting Hex, and a vicious wound appeared in the side of the Basilisk, the magical protection on its hide vanished after its death. With Titus encouraging him from the sidelines, Harry continued working through his repertoire, pausing after a while, dripping with sweat.

"_Not bad. You need to practise the ones I told you over the summer of course, but not bad. Moody's right though, you need to be a bit more controlled – some of the more powerful ones were all over the place. You do realise that you actually missed the Basilisk at one point? Merlin only knows how you managed that…"_

Harry flushed with embarrassment. "It's the first time I've used some of these spells, I think I can be given a little slack!

"_Sure, if you make the effort to improve_."

"You know that I will." Harry fell silent, turning something over in his mind. He had been thinking about this since his first meeting with Moody, but wasn't entirely certain how to go about it. "Titus…" he spoke up, tentatively.

"_What?"_

"When I get stressed, or upset – whenever my magic gets out of control… How can I stop that? Moody seemed to think that I should have some control over it."

"_Yeah, that is a bit of a problem. You've got more power than you know what to do with. Don't worry, as you get used to using more powerful magic, that'll change._"

"I've heard about wizards who didn't need a wand though – who could just wave their hands…"

Titus was silent for a moment. "_It's true that sometimes uncontrolled magic can do simple things, like levitate something – you've seen that happen. But you can't control it, that's just a myth. You need a wand to focus your magic._"

Harry listened to this carefully. There was something wrong there, he could feel it. "What are you holding back?"

Again, silence. And then: "_When I took over your body to fight Sirius, I was able to summon a chair across the room to block a Killing Curse. I didn't use a wand. But that was a fluke, not even Dumbledore does stuff like that! And how did you know I was holding back, anyway?"_

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, I could just feel it. Better not lie again, I'll know!"

As Titus grumbled at this, Harry smiled. It looked like he had a new task for the year – proving Titus wrong.


	8. Friendly Encounters

A/N: First of all, sorry for the delay. Chapters will be posted as and when finished, as I have absolutely no buffer left. Sadly, work does have to take precedence. Secondly, I've tried something a little different with the dialogue layout. Let me know if it doesn't work and I'll change back for future chapters. I think it looks a little more professional though. And on with the chapter!

**Chapter 6: Friendly Encounters…**

Aside from Moody, the first couple of weeks of term passed relatively smoothly for Harry. There were the usual hassles – Snape was as much a greasy git as ever, Trelawney was still insane, Hagrid's lessons still bordered on assault courses, and Nott was still an arrogant, sneering prat – but by now, Harry felt that he might actually miss them if they weren't there. They were a part of the fabric of life at Hogwarts, and it would be almost traumatic to go without. Not that he wouldn't sacrifice Snape – literally – to get a passing grade in Potions.

The worst thing about Hogwarts at the moment was the obsession with the Triwizard Tournament. Harry could see that the prize would be nice, but the prospect of getting torn apart in pursuit of it rather put him off the idea. The same could not be said of the Weasleys'. Ron and the twins had spoken of little else – although they wouldn't be old enough to compete, they were convinced that they could manage to fool the 'independent adjudicator' easily enough. It was getting annoying, especially when they talked about it in front of Hermione. Her lectures about rules and safety were getting a little tiresome, although Fred and George seemed to find them amusing.

However, worse things were to come…

* * *

"Come on lazybones, get up!"

With a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, Harry banished the sheets from Neville and Ron's beds. Ron yawned, and opened one eye blearily. He shut it again at the sight of Harry, up, dressed and ready for the day, with a look of gleeful enthusiasm on his face. With a groan, Ron rolled over, cracking open his eyes again to look at Neville. His friend had a similar look of weary bewilderment on his face, and he rolled his eyes at Ron.

"Nobody would object if we killed him would they Nev?"

Neville shook his head. "Nope. Reasonable provocation, on the grounds that it's too damn early!" His voice rose as he spoke, until he was looking over at Harry, attempting to glare but failing miserably. Harry smirked.

"Come on guys, you said that you wanted to train today. Well, rise and shine! Better to work up an appetite for breakfast than duel on an empty stomach. Besides, you don't want to keep Hermione waiting do you?"

That seemed to decide them, if nothing else. Shooting glares at Harry, the two friends staggered from their beds to shower and dress, muttering about insanity and indecent enthusiasm. With a grin, Harry bounded down the stairs to the common room. Hermione and Ginny were already there; the red head was slightly more awake than her brother and Neville, but just barely, slouched in her chair as if she had physically bonded with it, while Hermione was nearly as bright and alert as Harry himself.

"Morning ladies! Ready for a little workout?"

Ginny flipped her hand into the air in greeting, squinting at Harry but managing a small smile in return. Hermione, typically, began to talk at an astonishing rate.

"Absolutely! I've been reading up on duelling over the summer, and I've got a few things I want to try out – will you duel me later Harry? It's nothing too difficult or dangerous, but it's a little advanced for Fourth years, and I'm worried that the others won't be up to it – oh, sorry, no offense Ginny – so if you wouldn't mind – "

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, exchanging a wry glance with Ginny as he did so. "Peace! Sure, I'll duel you if you want, but only once I've seen how much you all remember. I don't want to wear you out. And don't worry, I'll go easy with you…"

Ginny sniggered as Hermione glared at Harry, placing her hands on her hips. "You damn well won't Harry; I want you to hit me with everything you've got! How else am I supposed to practice?"

"Hermione, I'm joking. Lighten up!" Harry responded with a roll of his eyes. As Hermione huffed, there was a clatter of feet on the stairs behind them, and Neville and Ron appeared, looking much more alert, although Ron still didn't seem to be able to cope with Hermione's bubbly greeting, responding with a half-hearted grunt. Ginny rolled her eyes and smacked the back of his head, drawing a giggle from Hermione and a glare from Ron. Clearing his throat, Harry beckoned them after him, and they trooped out of the portrait door, Ron and Ginny bickering quietly in the background, while Neville and Hermione went over spells together. It was a rather one-sided conversation, with Hermione talking nineteen to the dozen, but Harry couldn't help but notice that Neville was taking part even less than was usual when Hermione got going. Something was bothering Neville, but Harry couldn't identify what.

Before long, they had arrived at their destination, another of the many un-used classrooms at Hogwarts. The Chamber would have been far better for their purposes, but given the associations, Harry had thought it best not to mention his nocturnal wanderings, or take any of his friends there for the moment. One day maybe. The classroom would do for the moment though; it wasn't as if they were going to be doing anything too strenuous. Once inside, Harry perched himself on a desk, and surveyed the group. Without asking, almost without conscious decision, they had split into two groups; Ron and Ginny were standing slightly apart, and Hermione and Neville had grouped up. Harry clapped his hands together.

"Right then, let's see what you remember!"

It was a pretty impressive showing, all things considered. Hermione was still overthinking things, too many spells crammed into her brain for her to quickly decide, while Neville tended to stick to the same couple of spells, casting them well and with considerable power, but too easily blocked once you worked out his pattern. He seemed to be scared of casting them as well, which struck Harry as unusual. Was there something Neville hadn't said? Ron was deceptive – more than once he tricked Ginny into letting her guard down through predictable casting and movement, before slipping in a nicely chosen hex. That said, his wand work was a little sloppy. Ginny was simply inconsistent, occasionally getting past Ron's guard, occasionally just blasting through it with impressive power, and occasionally missing him altogether, her spells slamming into the walls behind them. After a few minutes, Harry called a halt.

"All right, not too bad. A little practise now we're back at school, and you'll be trouncing people in no time! Now, I've got a few new things for you to try out if you want, but any questions first?"

Naturally, Hermione's hand shot into the air. Before he answered, Harry noticed, again, that Neville had a slightly questioning air about him, but he didn't raise his hand. Once more, Harry put it to the back of his mind, and nodded at Hermione. She simply grinned at him.

"Can we duel first?"

Harry rolled his eyes good naturedly, but noticed that Ron and Ginny, at least, looked intrigued at the prospect. He shrugged. "All right. Show me what you've got!" As he stepped forward into the 'ring', the other three stepped back, leaving them alone. Harry grinned as he heard Ginny whisper to Ron that Harry would "kick Hermione's arse!" Hermione was muttering to herself, apparently reminding herself of a few incantations before the duel. She fell silent as Harry stood opposite her.

"You sure about this?" Harry asked, giving her a chance to back out.

"Absolutely. I want to see how effective some of this stuff is – it's defensive stuff, so don't worry about facing anything you haven't seen before."

"I wasn't worried. Ok, but don't forget to duck if you can't pull it off. I don't want to hurt you," Harry reminded her, a lingering streak of cautiousness poking him. "Well, not too badly anyway" he finished with a wink.

Hermione gave him a steely grin. "Let's see if you're still grinning when you're seeing stars, eh?"

Harry shrugged, and bent into a bow. Hermione immediately followed suit, making her first mistake as she took her eyes off him. Harry chose not to take advantage of this, but stored it up for future reference. He could have disarmed her without her even noticing. Instead, he swung his wand around as they both straightened up, his stream of fire blown away by Hermione's rather nifty wind charm. She moved to the offensive, snapping off a rather surprising spell that flung a string of golden light at him. Not knowing what it could do, he ducked, but it trailed over his arm, leaving it numb where the beam had touched.

Harry swore, and Hermione began to advance, sensing a duel winning advantage. However, Harry was beginning to feel his power flowing more strongly through him, and he had a few tricks that he _knew_ Hermione couldn't match. Concentrating hard, he barked out an incantation: _"Marmor!"_ The effort of casting the spell correctly caused sweat to bead on his forehead, and he could feel his magic pulsing around him, but thankfully, a fully formed block of marble popped into existence in front of him. He heard Hermione cry out in surprise, and start to chip away at it from the other side, but it gave him all the time he needed to heal the numbness she had inflicted on him. His arm back to normal, he looked up with grin.

Hermione cried out in triumph as the marble vanished, only to realise – too late – that it had been Harry who had got rid of it, and he had wasted no time in firing off another spell. It hit her full in the stomach, and she staggered back, winded. She dived to the side, avoiding Harry's next spell, but was nowhere near quick enough to avoid his third one, which yanked her into the air by her leg. The jet of water which she sent spiralling in his direction broke his concentration beautifully though, and although she landed on her back with a thud, she at least didn't have a soaking fringe obscuring her vision.

Harry cursed to himself as he recognised a Striking spell shooting over his head, and he ducked and rolled, snapping off a series of Stinging hexes at Hermione. He was rewarded with a hiss of pain from his friend, and he followed up swiftly with a powerful Banishing Hex. Too powerful, he realised a split second later. Hermione didn't even try to duck, but jabbed her wand forward, a flickering circle of purple light bursting from the tip. Harry's hex struck the circle – some kind of shield, he assumed, which caused a vague flicker of remembrance – and passed straight through, slamming into Hermione's chest and throwing her backwards into a desk, which splintered under the force of her impact.

Harry gaped, frozen in shock, as he heard something crack, and Hermione whimpered in pain. There was a moment of near silence, before Neville darted over to where Hermione was struggling to sit up, cradling her left arm gingerly.

"Hermione! Are you all right?"

"No. I think – I think it's broken" Hermione hissed through gritted teeth. She whimpered again as Neville helped her to her feet, wrapping his arm around her.

"Come on, let's get you to the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey'll have it fixed in a jiffy, you'll see." As he helped her out of the door, Neville glared at Harry. "Get this place fixed up, and we'll see you there."

* * *

Harry, Ron and Ginny arrived at the Hospital Wing at a run, breathless with anxiety, and, in Harry's case, guilt. He couldn't believe it; he had done it again! He hadn't been controlled enough, and he had hurt someone – a friend this time. Moody had been right. He really was dangerous.

They slowed as they headed into the Hospital Wing, wary of being thrown out by an irate Madame Pomfrey. Hermione was perched on a bed, a pained expression on her face, while Madame Pomfrey was standing over her, holding her wand to Hermione's injured arm and muttering softly. Neville was hovering over Hermione, a concerned look on his face. He looked up as they walked in, and nodded curtly in greeting. As they approached, Madame Pomfrey straightened up.

"Well dear, nothing seriously wrong. You did crack a bone, but it's all fixed up now, so don't worry about that. Your arm will probably be a little sore for a while, so don't do anything too strenuous with it – it's not your wand arm is it? Good. So yes, take it easy for the rest of the day, you should be fine tomorrow. And Mr Potter…" She turned round, giving Harry a stern look. "Do _try _to be a little more careful in future, ok? You might injure someone more badly next time."

Harry bowed his head, his cheeks burning. He looked up again as Madame Pomfrey headed back towards her office. Hermione was rubbing her arm in a distracted fashion, an irritated expression on her face. He stepped forward.

"I'm really sorry Hermione, I put too much power behind it – "

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it Harry. It wasn't your fault; I messed up the spell. I should have practiced it a little before trying it out in a duel. And I'm not exactly crippled!"

"I know, but still. I should have been more careful, I've already learnt that…"

"Here's hoping it sticks this time."

Silence fell. Even Neville seemed appalled by what he had just said. Hermione shot a furious look over her shoulder at him, and hopped off the bed, moving over to Ron and Ginny, both of who were looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Harry, I – "

"Neville, can we have a quick word? In private?" Harry spoke calmly, hiding his hurt. Neville hesitated, then nodded. "Good. Hermione, I'm sorry; I hope it feels better soon. We'll see you in a bit, ok?" Hermione nodded. In silence, they all walked out of the Hospital Wing, before Harry and Neville split away from the others. They walked in silence through the castle, until they found a quiet balcony to talk on. Harry locked the door behind them, and sat down, his back against the wall, watching his friend fidget uncomfortably.

"So. What precisely _is_ your problem Nev? You've been on edge all term, and I'm getting sick of it."

"Harry, I should never have said that. I'm sorry, I really am."

"Accepted," Harry responded, still affecting a calm voice, "But the fact that you think it at all is cause for concern."

Neville inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of the statement, before he too sat down next to Harry, not looking at him. "It's just… I worry about you, you know? You've been so obsessed with learning how to fight, even before we found out about Sirius. Since then, it's only got worse. I worry that you're turning into a soldier – you're only fourteen for Merlin's sake!"

"Voldemort's on his way back Neville. He's going to want me dead, and I don't imagine he'll do it quickly. I'm not just going to roll over and let him do whatever he wants – I'm going to fight. Besides, even if he wasn't around, there's still plenty of his followers roaming free. You know that."

"I know, I know… You just don't seem like a kid anymore, you know? I worry about the effect it's having on you. And I worry that you're getting obsessed with Sirius. Be honest with me. Do you want him arrested, or dead?"

There was a moment of silence. Then: "Dead. I want him dead. And yes, before you ask, I want to be the one to kill him. I think, anyway…"

"You think?"

"A vow made in anger looks a little different after you've actually killed someone Nev. I'm not proud of that, I'm really not. It should never have happened, even in self-defence. Sirius is a special case though. He deserves it, for everything he's done. And if I do end up fighting Voldemort, I'm not going to be aiming to wound."

Neville nodded slowly, and Harry turned his head to look at him.

"Does that bother you?"

"Harry, _violence_ makes me uncomfortable. I… I remember it, you know? I still hear them screaming. I can still hear the Death Eaters laughing. My gran wants me to try out for the Auror academy, avenge my parents or something like that, but I just can't face it. I never want to hear anything like that again. And everytime you've got us training, I've hated it. I hate the thought that one day I might do something like that – I don't want to hurt anyone."

Harry stared at his friend, speechless. After a moment, he sighed, and put his arm round Neville's shoulder. "You idiot, why didn't you say anything?"

Neville shrugged. "I don't know… I guess I just didn't want any of you thinking any less of me, you know?"

"We wouldn't have! Of course we wouldn't!"

"Yeah, I know that _intellectually_… It's just putting it into practise that's the problem."

Neville grinned at him sheepishly, and Harry shook his head. "You're a bit of an idiot sometimes, you know that Nev?"

"Yeah, I know. I'll try to avoid it in future.

"Good. And don't worry about me so much, ok? I know I can get a little… focussed, but I've still got a grip on reality. I'm not looking to go on the warpath anytime soon, I just don't want to be defenceless. I mean, look at how much trouble I've got into over the last few years. Death Eaters, basilisks, trolls… Merlin only knows what's going to happen next."

Neville nodded. "True, and I can understand that. I just… it's not for me, I'm sorry."

"Neville… I'm sorry to say this, but as one of my best friends, and the son of former Order members, you are going to be a target if the Death Eaters ever come back full force. All of you are. I don't want you to be hurt because you don't know how to defend yourself."

"I know… I just don't like the idea of duelling."

Harry sighed. "Will you at least learn defensive charms? Even if you're not going to attack anyone, you ought to be able to block their attacks."

"Yeah. Ok, I can do that."

"Great! Now, we should probably get going before the others start to worry we're killing each other."

"Sounds like a plan. Harry…" Neville looked at his friend, regret on his face. "I really am sorry for what I said; I know you didn't take it lightly."

"I know that. Just don't let it happen again, ok?"

"That won't be a problem, believe me."

However, as they walked back through the castle, Harry couldn't help but be concerned. If Neville refused to learn to fight, then he was going to end up getting hurt sooner or later. He needed to persuade him to change his mind, and fast.

* * *

A/N: This was originally going to be the first half of a chapter, but it went on a lot longer than I expected. Oh well.


	9. Enter the Opposition

**Chapter 7: Enter the opposition**

Harry swore, loudly, as the stone utterly failed to move. He had been trying to lift it for nearly twenty minutes – a task he could easily do with his wand or his hand. Sadly, he had decided that he was just going to use magic to move it. He'd known it wouldn't be easy, but he thought he might have at least been able to make it twitch. After all, conjuration came easily enough to him, and that was hardly an elementary feat of magic. He scowled at the stone, his hand outstretched as if he was pushing at it. Why wouldn't the damn thing move?

"_You may recall that I mentioned this would be pretty near impossible. Of course, by all means carry on. Your failure is quite funny to watch."_

Harry sighed. "I'm glad you're being entertained, but would it be too much trouble for you to actually try and help? You know, do something useful for a change, instead of just sitting around being snarky?"

"_Can I be snarky while I'm helping?"_

"If you must."

"_Great. Well, for a start, getting angry isn't going to help in the slightest. Take some time out and calm down. Imagine you're a beautiful flower or some of that rubbish. After that, try working out how you use your magic without a wand before you try doing anything with it. Magic isn't just a matter of willing something to happen, you should know that. You need power to back it up. You need to master your power before you can do anything."_

"I've been casting spells for years, I _know_ how to do it Titus! I'm not an idiot you know."

"_Could have fooled me. This isn't normal magic, is it? You're not doing it in the same way you would with a wand. It's not just a matter of muttering the right words, you need to know how it __**works**_. _Learn to walk before you try to run, huh?"_

Harry muttered under his breath at the patronising advice, but turned away from the stone regardless, taking several deep breaths, his eyes shut and his thoughts on happy memories. He spent a few minutes calming down, not thinking about magic at all, until he felt more even tempered. Then he sat down, and began to think about his magic. How did he make it work? He'd never really thought about it before. He just said the spell, and moved his wand appropriately. He supposed that he could feel his magic pulsing inside him when he cast a spell, if he concentrated, but he'd never really thought about how he actually expelled magic.

"_Try a practical demonstration. Cast something simple, something like a Lumos charm, and concentrate on how it feels to cast it."_

Harry hurriedly drew his wand, and uttered the incantation. Immediately, the tip of his wand began to give out a bright light, illuminating the Chamber around him. As he did so, he closed his eyes, turning his attention in on himself, examining the feel of his magic swelling inside him. It was a curious sensation. He could feel an odd tingling flowing throughout his body, so mild as to be unnoticeable unless you were actually looking for it. It was strongest in his chest, although still little more than an itch; he could feel it weakly extending through his wand arm, gaining in strength again as it reached his fingertips, still wrapped tightly around his wand.

"Ok… I can feel it. Now what?"

"_Concentrate on how your magic ebbs and flows when you cast a spell."_

Harry cancelled the spell, plunging the Chamber back into gloom, lit only by a few conjured candles. He had been quite proud of them, particularly the way they survived to be lit. A moment later, he re-cast the spell, focussing his mind on the feel of his magic as he did so. It felt a little odd, as if it was trying to push through his hand, before it surged through his wand, given extra focus by the phoenix feather and holly wood. He replayed this gesture several times, trying to capture the sensation in his mind, and eventually lowered his wand.

"_Got it? Good. Now, try doing it without a wand."_

Feeling somewhat dubious, Harry raised his hand, palm up. He closed his eyes, concentrating hard. He focussed his mind, picturing his core, a tendril of magic snaking away from his centre, down his arm to his fingertips. Nothing seemed to be happening. He concentrated, willing his magic on, pushing at it, pressing it forward…

His palm was warm.

He opened his eyes. The palm of his hand was shining. It wasn't exactly a blinding light, probably wasn't enough even to light his way around the Chamber, but it was enough, for the moment. Harry felt his face split in a wide, delighted grin. He had done it. He had performed a wandless Lumos charm. At fourteen years of age, he had performed deliberate, wandless magic. He began to giggle, ecstatic.

It was a good start.

* * *

"… And so, without further ado, join me in welcoming our cousins from Beauxbatons!"

Harry applauded with the rest of the students as the Beauxbatons party arrived. At first, he thought they were just walking in orderly fashion, but then he realised there was more of a rhythm to it. They were incorporating magic into their movements, and as they walked, he realised that they were conjuring; butterflies, hundreds of butterflies began to fly from the midst of the blue-clad students. It was an impressive display, and he wasn't sure how many of his classmates would have been able to match it. He indicated this to Hermione, who shrugged at him.

"Beauxbatons is famous for its focus on Transfiguration, just like Durmstrang is famous for Defence Against the Dark Arts. It's only natural that they'd be more advanced than us."

_ Most of us_, Harry thought to himself. An answering snort of derision from the back of his head reminded him that his private thoughts weren't always private. He noticed that Ron was gazing almost hungrily at one particular member of the Beauxbatons party, and he followed his friends gaze. His eyes widened, impressed. The girl was certainly attractive, hair so blonde it practically shone and luminous eyes. He wasn't quite as drawn to her as Ron was though. Something about her made his skin tingle, and not in a good way. He looked away, and noticed that Fred and George were sniggering at Ron's captivation. He grinned at them, and left them to distract their brother. As he turned back, he realised that Hermione, Ginny and Neville were looking at him, amused. He shrugged defensively.

"What? She's good looking – I've never seen anyone that pretty!"

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation, and turned her head back to the Beauxbatons students, who were taking seats at the Ravenclaw table. Ginny grinned at him cheekily, her eyes shining with amusement.

"Nobody that pretty Harry? Not even Miss Chang?"

Harry blushed and scowled at his friend.

"Not even her. They just don't make them like that at Hogwarts, do they Nev?"

He turned to get Neville's opinion of the girl, but his friend just shrugged. "They make them ok at Hogwarts if you ask me." Neville's eyes widened as he realised what he had said, and he turned hastily back to watch Dumbledore, who was giving a welcoming speech in French. Harry and Ginny traded glances, and then they both leant over to Neville.

"They make them ok here do they? And just who do they make ok, hmm? Come on mate, who's caught your eye?"

Try as they might though, they couldn't get an answer from him. Eventually, they gave up, distracted by Dumbledore announcing the arrival of the Durmstrang students. They didn't bother with a display of magic: their strict, imposing march told the audience everything they needed to know about the Durmstrang philosophy. The visitors ended up in front of the staff table, wands raised in salute. They moved more like soldiers than students, and frankly, Harry was a little intimidated. All of a sudden, next to him, Ron let out a hiss of surprise.

"Harry! That's – that's Krum that is!"

"Don't be ridiculous… Bloody hell!"

Ginny looked at Hermione with a wry grin. "Looks like we're going to have to cope with them salivating over him all year."

"I can't wait…" was Hermione's only response.

Harry tuned out as Dumbledore reiterated his previous speech about the Tournament; he already knew that he would be unable to take part, so wasn't interested in the mechanics. He was just interested in the spectacle of watching it. He was tapping his fingers idly on the table top when Hermione elbowed him, sharply. He looked at her, angrily, then followed her directing nod. He turned, vaguely registering that Dumbledore was talking about security, and then had to hold back a yell of delight.

Remus and Peter were standing by a door in the back of the Hall, having apparently only just entered. Peter nudged Remus, and they both grinned, giving Harry a discreet thumbs up. Harry returned it, and sat back, a large grin on his face. They slipped out again as the speeches wound down, and Harry turned his attention to food. However, once the feast was over and they had all been dismissed, he bounded from his seat as quickly as he politely could.

Sure enough, his guardians were waiting for him in the entrance hall. He ran over to them, and was quickly enveloped in a hug from Remus. Characteristically, Peter restricted himself to a pat on the back, still rarely comfortable with overt affection. Harry grinned up at them both.

"What are you guys doing here? When did you arrive? How long are you here for?"

"Slow down kiddo," Remus chuckled fondly. "We're here to provide a little extra security for the Tournament. I know that there are going to be Aurors around, but Dumbledore felt that…"

"They were useless?" Harry remarked, snidely.

"…Perhaps not quite as up to scratch as he might like, under the circumstances. And not all of them are useless Harry," Remus reprimanded him.

"Just most of them," Peter butted in. Remus glared at him, and Harry sniggered quietly. Remus shook his head in despair at them both.

"Anyway, Dumbledore just felt that some of the old crowd might be useful to have around – hence Moody taking DADA this year, for one thing."

Harry couldn't help the look of distaste that flashed across his face at the mention of the former Auror. Peter noticed.

"You don't like him?"

"He's a little… intense."

Peter and Remus shared a glance. "True, but he's highly skilled. You could learn a lot from him Harry," Remus advised him, cautiously.

Harry grimaced. "I'm sure, but he's a bit unpleasant, don't you think?"

"I think he'd prefer to be called 'direct', Harry."

"Thanks for that helpful advice Moony, I'll bear it in mind. It's not like I'm going to say that to his face, is it? Give me a little credit…"

Remus chuckled again, ruffling his ward's hair. "I give you a lot of credit Harry. And I know that you aren't that silly, but nevertheless, bear it in mind, ok? Whatever your issues with him, he's still a teacher here, and you should pay him respect accordingly."

"Does that apply to Snape as well?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry. And yes, it does," Remus told him with a mock glare.

"How's he been this year?" Peter interjected, a carefully blank look on his face. Harry shrugged.

"No worse than usual I suppose, but certainly not as good as he should be. Let's not talk about him though, he's dull – how's everyone at home?"

"They're fine. Missing you – more regular letters would not go amiss, you know."

Harry bowed his head guiltily under Remus's pointed gaze. "Yeah, I know… I just get busy! Schoolwork, training – "

"Training? What for? There's no Quidditch this year." Peter leapt onto Harry's slip of the tongue, staring down at him. Harry winced, fractionally.

"Just practicing spells and stuff. You know, trying to prevent any more 'accidents'. On my own, of course."

Peter nodded, apparently satisfied, and Harry breathed a little easier. He was fairly sure that telling Peter and Remus about his nocturnal trips to the Chamber of Secrets, and his attempts to learn wandless magic, would not be a good idea. Particularly in public. Neither was given to explosive loss of temper, but when they did, it was impressive, and better kept private.

They shared some more hurried small talk, interrupted briefly by the arrival of Harry's friends, all politely greeted by the Marauders, before Peter and Remus had to leave to go over arrangements with Dumbledore. They just had time to tell Harry that they were staying in guest quarters in the castle before they hurried off. Harry and his friends went their own way, heading towards the library with the vague intention of doing work (at least, Hermione had – the others were going to gossip). They were halted along the way by a sneering, aristocratic voice calling after them.

"How _sweet_ Zabini; Potter's got his own pet bodyguards to protect him from the nasty visitors! What's the matter Potter, afraid one of them'll get a bit over competitive? Don't worry, I shouldn't think anyone will be paying attention to _you_."

Harry closed his eyes with a sigh, before turning around and forcing a smile. "Nott. And I was just thinking that I hadn't seen you this term. It was nice."

Nott was lounging against a statue, examining his nails as if bored. His constant companion Blaise Zabini was standing next to him, an anticipatory look on his face, his fingers twitching, ready to snap his wand from his robes in a heartbeat. Nott stood up, straightening his robes. He smiled at Harry, unpleasantly.

"Of course, I suppose they might notice you," he continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken. "You know, if you do something spectacularly stupid, like try and fool that Age-Line Dumbledore was twittering about. That's what you're thinking about, right? Glory hunter like you, you must be wetting yourself at the chance to show off in front of a crowd. Always trying to be the centre of attention…"

"I hadn't even thought about that Nott. Why on earth would I volunteer for something so dangerous? As for attention seeking, you're the one who called out to me – don't pretend to be stupider than you already are."

Nott shrugged. "Well, maybe you have got a brain up there. I wouldn't know. But I know one thing – big thing like the Tournament? It'll be a prime target for the Knights, won't it? And rumour has it they've linked up with Death Eaters now, real ones. I shouldn't get too attached to those followers Potter, they might not last long – one of them got hurt last time a Death Eater got in here, didn't they? Of course, that was your godfather… You must be so proud!"

Harry darted forward, drawing his wand, a spell on his lips, but before he could cast, Nott's spell hit him in the face. He gritted his teeth through the pain and sent a powerful jinx straight back at him; he was rewarded with the sight of Nott crumpling in pain as the wind was knocked out of him. He was about to follow up when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He whirled round, and his heart sank.

Why did it have to be Snape?

"Fighting in the corridors Potter? How… disappointing. One would hope that you might have learnt a little decorum over the years. I'm sure an evening down in the dungeons will go some way towards correcting this deficit though, what do you think?"

Harry scowled, and turned his face away, knowing that it was pointless to argue. Snape would never take his word over one of his own house, the biased git. He could almost _feel_ Nott's smug grin, burning into his back. And then:

"Sorry to interrupt Snape, but you're not in full possession of the facts I'm afraid." There was an all too familiar clunk of wood on stone, and Harry saw Mad-Eye Moody make his way round the corner of the corridor. He was leaning heavily on his staff, and his magical eye was staring intently over Harry's shoulder, as if zoomed in on the two Slytherin students behind him. "Young Mr Nott started the fight, seems only fair that he should share the blame, wouldn't you say?"

Snape sneered at the Defence Professor. "So _you_ say Moody. You weren't exactly an eye-witness though were you? I know how much importance you place on those…"

Moody smiled darkly, not deigning to turn his head towards Snape, and reached up to tap his bulbous blue eye. "I don't need to be in the same corridor to see what's going on Snape. I saw the whole thing."

"Potter has an unfortunate habit of starting fights Moody, I assure you – "

"Maybe, but he isn't the one bleeding is he? Nott ain't an innocent, I assure _you_."

Startled, Harry raised his hand to his cheek, where Nott's spell had hit him. His face was warm, and sticky, and when he took his hand away, the fingertips were stained red with his blood. He turned, slowly, fixing Nott with a stunned gaze. While the students were forbidden to use magic against each other at Hogwarts, it happened fairly frequently, and there was a certain etiquette. You never did anything that could leave a mark. Harry was genuinely shocked. Nott just grinned, maliciously at him. When he turned back, Snape was looking at him angrily. He didn't want to admit Nott's culpability, but he could hardly deny it.

"Tell you what Snape. You take care of your student, I'll take care of Potter? Sound good to you? Splendid. Come along Potter…"

Before Snape – or indeed Harry – could say anything in protest, Moody was dragging Harry off, almost literally. Harry had to scamper after him to regain his footing. He followed Moody in despondent silence, painfully aware that his punishment was unlikely to be any better than he would have received from Snape. Moody led him all the way back to his office, and after letting him in, bade him take a seat.

Harry sat down, some of his misery dissolved. He was lost in fascination with some of the objects around the room. It was packed with magical artefacts, all of which served some protective purpose. The room practically hummed with magic, and he frowned, aware he would never have noticed that before. Moody was watching him with interest.

"Like my Dark Detectors do you Potter? That's the best, my Foe-Glass." He pointed over Harry's shoulder at a large mirror. Pale, barely formed shapes moved within it, and Harry shuddered.

"Something wrong?"

"Sorry sir – it just reminds me of the Mirror of Erised."

Moody blinked in astonishment. "When would you have seen the Mirror of Erised?"

"My first year. It blew up in my face – I got some of it stuck in my face, for a bit."

Moody stared at him, his expression frozen, and then his scarred face split open in a chuckle. "You do get around, don't you Potter?" He eased himself onto his desk, taking the weight off his leg, studying Harry in silence for a moment. "I think I may have misjudged you Potter."

"Sir?"

"I've been watching you all term Potter, during class, and I was watching the fight, the whole thing. Wanted to see what you did. And while you shouldn't have done it, what you did was impressive. I was wrong, you're not incompetent. You're just too good for the people you train with. You're never going to learn how to control your magic going at the rate of your classmates, you're more powerful than them. Hell, you even _feel _different to 'em."

Harry said nothing. He wasn't entirely sure where this was going, and holding his tongue had never done him any harm.

"So. Your detention, for duelling in the corridors. Compulsory attendance at Mad-Eye Moody's very own boot camp. Let's see what I can teach you, hmm?"

That was a little too much.

"Sir, a few weeks ago, you were telling me that I was reckless and incompetent. And you knew I was powerful then. I don't see what's changed."

"I've got to know you a little better, seen where you fit in. I thought you were just powerful for your age, but now I think you're the most powerful student in this school."

"That's ridiculous," Harry said quietly. "McGonagall, Snape – "

"I said student, not person. You're not as powerful as any of the staff, although I'm curious to see what's lurking inside you. The stuff you learn here's never going to be good enough to keep that power in check, and until you learn that, you're going to be dangerous. Sadly, because of your… unusual circumstances, we can't just leave you to find out how to do that on your own. Hence the lessons. Sound reasonable?"

Harry stared at him for a moment, then nodded, slowly, milling over the implications of this in his mind. It was an unexpected development, and a part of him was quite offended that Moody seemed to think he would just forget about their first couple of meetings and the way he had treated Harry. But… he had to admit, the chance of learning control and duelling from a famous ex-Auror was undeniably appealing.

"Excellent. Well then, we'll start on Saturday. Three in the afternoon. _Don't _be late!"

Harry took the dismissal, and walked out of the office, still thinking to himself. And then a quiet voice popped up in the back of his head.

"_So… What are you going to dazzle him with then? Make it something special. Show him what you're made of." _

Harry grinned at that, already plotting.


	10. The Goblet of Fire

A/N: Well, I've now realised that the new layout doesn't make it through the editing process, even when I go through and put it back in. Oh well, it looks fantastic in Word, I assure you. Further apologies for the delay between chapters, but I'm approaching the end of my final year, so it's a heavy workload. However, the next two chapters are done, and I'm working on a third, so I may actually be able to keep to a regular update schedule, at least for a while. Fingers crossed!

**Chapter 8: The Goblet of Fire**

Saturday rolled round, and Harry was eagerly awaiting his lesson. He'd been going over the spells he knew, trying to think of something he could use to surprise Moody, and he thought he had a couple of things up his sleeve that would be useful. He approached Moody's classroom as three o'clock neared, in a state of nervous excitement. When Peter and Remus had heard he was going to be having private lessons, they had been delighted, and filled his head with stories of the ex-Auror's ability in duelling.

He knocked on the door, and pushed it open when there was no answer. The room had been dramatically rearranged; instead of desks, and teaching equipment, there was now a long duelling platform down the middle of the room. It was made of wood, and it felt hot to the touch.

"It's the wards on it; they keep spells from spilling out and hurting spectators, and prevent serious injuries."

Harry whirled round, startled. How could a man with a wooden leg move that quietly? Standing at the top of the stairs to his office, Moody grinned, a rather startling expression on so grizzled a face.

"Silencing Charm. And don't worry, I can't read minds," he said, evidently seeing Harry's confusion in his expression. "I'm just good at telling what people are thinking – too much experience in working out whether people are lying to me or not. So don't bother trying to get out of homework!"

Harry watched as Moody made his way down the stairs, leaning heavily on his staff. The professor seemed more relaxed than Harry had ever seen him, for some reason. He never seemed entirely comfortable in front of a class of students. But then, after everything he had seen and done, Harry supposed a duelling platform must almost feel like home for Moody. Moody almost vaulted onto the platform, and when he turned to Harry, he was grinning.

"Titus?"

"_What?"_

"I'm going to get my arse kicked, aren't I?"

"_Wouldn't surprise me, but you never know. You might get lucky."_

With that cheering thought, Harry mounted the platform himself. Moody raised his wand in salute, and Harry mirrored him, taking several deep breaths in preparation.

"Come on then Potter. Let's see what you can do…"

Harry didn't even _see_ Moody's arm slash down; he just saw the flash of light heading towards him. He ducked down as fast as he could, but still felt it fly over his head. As Moody's spell reached the end of the platform, it sizzled out against the wards, in a shower of sparks. But in the time it had taken Harry to see that, Moody had cast another spell, and this one connected. Hard. Harry flipped backwards, landing face down on the platform with a thud. He groaned.

"Pay attention Potter – you're not going to learn anything if you don't watch your opponent!"

Harry growled, and pushed himself to a kneeling stance with one hand, snapping his wand arm out as he did so. With a loud cry, he fired off a fireball at Moody, who slashed it in two with a sweep of his wand. He quickly followed up with a flurry of Stinging hexes; Moody blocked two of them, but Harry was gratified to hear him hissing in pain as the other two spells found his arm. They were hardly debilitating injuries though, as Moody proved with a perfectly cast Bludgeoning curse. Harry's shield charm blocked it, but now Moody was keeping up a rapid assault on him. Spell after spell thudded against his shield, preventing him from doing anything to respond. That said, his shield wasn't weakening. He felt like he could keep it up all day, and Moody was beginning to look annoyed. Harry suspected that most of Moody's opponents would have fallen by now, under such a barrage. Harry grinned, and risked opening his mouth.

"Is that the best you've got? I'd have thought you'd have broken through my shield by now sir!"

Moody glowered at him, and lowered his wand a touch. Before Harry had worked out what was going on, the Detonation curse had hit the floor in front of him. His shield sadly didn't protect him against shockwaves from explosions, and the force of it threw him backwards. He slammed into the wards at the side of the platform, and rebounded off, crouching down, badly winded. Moody strolled towards him casually.

"I'm sure I've warned you about getting cocky Potter… You should be more careful!"

Harry flung his arm out, aiming a Cutting hex at Moody's torso, but once again, it was blocked. Moody grinned, savagely, and Harry realised why Moody had seemed relaxed earlier. Duelling wasn't just a part of his job, he truly _enjoyed _it. How could he beat someone like that?

"_Calm down Harry – remember what we talked about…"_

Harry nodded to himself, taking a deep breath, and shouted another spell: "_Aquaefficio!"_

Moody blinked in confusion, automatically trying to block the spell, before realising that Harry hadn't been aiming at him. His wooden leg sank through the platform, a patch of it now transfigured into water, and he fell forward, clutching his staff to stay as upright as he could. Harry seized his opportunity.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Moody's wand went soaring off the platform, and Harry grinned in delight. Moody looked up at him, smiling a little.

"Well done Potter. Pretty impressive!"

And then the head of his staff glowed bright white, and there was a sudden pain in Harry's chest.

When Harry came to, he was flat on his back, and Moody was standing over him, reaching down to help him to his feet.

"Wha… What happened?"

"There's an amulet on my staff, with a stored up bit of magic inside it. Weapon of last resort, you know. No-one ever sees it coming!"

"Yeah…" Harry shook his head, still seeing stars. "I really didn't."

"And what have you learnt?"

_That you're a devious git with a taste for violence_, Harry thought to himself. Out loud, he said only "Never underestimate your opponent?"

"That's right – and you've helped me to remember it, I have to say. That was an impressive piece of transfiguration, I'd never have thought someone your age could have pulled it off."

Harry shrugged. "Transfiguration's always been my best subject. It just comes naturally to me really."

Moody nodded, watching Harry with a curious expression on his face. "Hmm… Well, it's a useful talent; there aren't many people who can use transfiguration successfully in a duel. That could give you a useful edge, if you learn some decent uses of it. So, what did you think of your first proper duel?"

Harry frowned. "It wasn't my first, Professor. I've duelled before."

"I'm not talking about schoolyard brawls, or when you duelled that Knight. The Knights are pretty useless, and having seen how much potential you've got, I think that was your problem. You've actually put some effort into training, even if it's just to a schoolboy level so far. The Knights are a bunch of spoilt little rich kids, who've never had to put effort in because they've got their family fortunes to fall back on. Merlin only knows why real Death Eaters are associating with them, they're very different breeds."

Harry nodded, pondering that idea. He hadn't really thought about it, but now Moody mentioned it, he had done rather well against the Knights, better than simply being powerful should have allowed. And he was glad Moody didn't seem to know about his experience at the end of the previous year; that would have been _very _difficult to explain. Moody had sounded strange though. "You almost sound like you admire the Death Eaters sir…"

Moody shrugged carelessly. "I can relate to them, to an extent. Many of them follow Voldemort because they see him as a living embodiment of dark magic – which I don't think is true. Voldemort's evil; dark magic isn't. Dark magic is uncontrolled magic, free of the rules and limits we place on it. Wild magic. Some Death Eaters seem to think that Voldemort will bring about a new age, a return to the old ways. And I respect that – I'm quite wild myself. I don't much like the way that the Ministry restricts how we use our magic, and I don't see a need for the Statute of Secrecy, not anymore. But there are better ways to go about changing people's beliefs than terrorism, don't you think? Voldemort won't bring anything good to the world, and his methods and ideology are repellent. And of course, there are Death Eaters who just like killing people, especially Muggles and Muggleborns. They're scum, pure and simple."

Harry was a little surprised to find himself agreeing. He too felt that the Ministry was unreasonable in its restrictions on magic, which was perhaps understandable when one of his closest friends was a werewolf. At the same time, some of his most powerful memories were of times he had just let his magic flow freely. Not necessarily happy memories, because the most recent one was fighting the Dementors in June, but he couldn't remember feeling more… More _complete_. He suddenly realised that Moody was watching him, carefully.

"I think there's something a little wild about you as well Potter. Your magic feels very different to the other students, and I'm not sure what it is."

"I wouldn't know about that Professor," Harry responded vaguely. He might be having private duelling lessons with the man, but he hadn't forgotten the little 'test' at the start of the year. It didn't matter how much Moody could teach him, he was still a distinctly unlikeable person.

"Hmm. Right, well, a good start today. Good to get a bit of a picture of what you can do. I'll let you know when we'll be meeting again. Dismissed!"

* * *

Moody watched Harry leave the classroom thoughtfully. The boy was powerful, no doubt about it – his arm was still stinging where the two hexes had got through – and his technique wasn't bad, he just needed a decent partner to brush up against. He knew that the remaining Marauders had taught him what they could, but they were hampered by the restriction for underage magic. There wasn't much they could teach him out of school, legally at least, and they weren't around Hogwarts very often.

However, the most interesting thing about the session had been Potter's transfiguration of the platform. Not just because it was a decent piece of spellwork – indeed, Moody knew that he would not be able to pull something like that off. It was rather outside his particular sphere of talent and interest.

No, the really interesting thing was that it shouldn't have happened. The wards didn't just stop spells escaping, they prevented damage or alteration to the platform itself. That was how he had been able to use a Detonation curse on it and not destroy it. In turning part of it to water, Potter had not just done something impressive, he had done something that was supposed to be impossible. And he didn't seem to realise.

Interesting.

* * *

The next two weeks passed largely without incident. The Weasley twins were subjected to ridicule for their disastrous attempt to bypass the Age-Line around the Goblet of Fire, and deservedly so; they did not look terribly attractive with bushy white beards. But most people were too busy gossiping about who the Champions were going to be. Everyone knew that Krum had put his name in, and he was the hot favourite for the Durmstrang champion – although, as Hermione pointed out, he was the only foreign student anyone really recognised, so who else was going to be picked out for the grapevine? For all they knew, flying was his only talent. As far as Harry and his friends could see, even talking seemed to be beyond him, although to be fair they only ever saw him in the library, and Ron still hadn't plucked up the courage to ask for an autograph, so they had no way of knowing.

The Beauxbatons Champion was more of a mystery. Harry and Ginny had seen the attractive girl who had left Ron practically salivating put her name into the Goblet, so they knew she was in the running, but they didn't know what her name was. Like the Durmstrang students, the Beauxbatons party largely kept to themselves. It rather made a mockery of international co-operation, which – according to the Ministry – was the point of the tournament. The students from each school knew better though. Making friends would be nice, but it was still a sporting competition.

As for Hogwarts, there were a few candidates that people knew about. Cedric Diggory had put his name in, and seemed to be a popular choice – largely because he played Quidditch and was good looking, as far as Harry could see, although he knew him to be an honourable person from his second year. From Gryffindor, there were a couple of choices; Angelina Johnson and David Nighy, a seventh year Harry didn't really know. From Ravenclaw, Roger Davies had entered his name, but no-one seemed to give him much thought. And the Slytherins were typically close-mouthed. Even Draco didn't know who had put their names in, although he had been unspeakably angry about not being able to enter himself.

Gossip about the Tournament aside however, it was a quiet fortnight. Neville managed to blow up a cauldron in Potions, earning Snape's wrath, they had seen some rather disturbing diagrams in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Trelawney was still predicting student's deaths on a regular basis, but nothing out of the ordinary. Even Nott had been keeping his head down, although Harry knew it was too much to hope that Snape might actually have punished one of his own students.

Soon enough though, there was some genuine excitement for Hogwarts: the announcement of the Champions arrived.

* * *

"… And representing Hogwarts, joining Mr Krum and Miss Delacour, is Mr Cedric Diggory!"

There was thunderous applause and cheering as Diggory leapt from his seat, practically jogging away to take his place with the other Champions. It gradually died down, an excited buzz of conversation taking its place, as people eagerly discussed what kind of competition there would be between the three Champions. Harry was sure it would be a good one; he knew Diggory and Krum were talented sportsmen at the very least, so should provide entertainment. And Fleur Delacour, the attractive girl from Beauxbatons, had a determined air about her, when seen up close. He was happily talking to Ron about what the challenges might be when a hush fell across the hall. Harry turned, and was more than a little surprised to see the Goblet spitting out another piece of parchment.

How could there be four champions in the Triwizard Tournament?

Dumbledore plucked the parchment from the air almost mindlessly, as if running on automatic. He didn't even seem to realise he had done it until he was looking at it. As he read the name, surprise flashed across his face, followed by a look of exhausted resignation. Suddenly, Harry had a very bad feeling about the name on that parchment.

"Harry Potter."

Harry clutched the table in front of him, fighting the urge to panic. What the hell was going on? He hadn't put his name in, how could it be coming out? How could it have picked him as _well_ as Cedric? It wasn't until Ron jabbed him with his elbow that he realised he really ought to be doing something. He could feel everyone staring at him, and then Dumbledore called out his name again. He climbed shakily to his feet, and followed the path through the room that the three other Champions had taken. He locked eyes with Dumbledore, and came to a halt beside him.

"Sir, I didn't…"

"Just go on through to the others Harry."

Harry said nothing, but walked out of the Hall. When the door shut behind him, he leant against the wall for a moment. This really could _not_ be happening. He was too young! Too inexperienced! He was going to get killed, he knew it.

"_You will with that attitude – man up Potter! Don't have a panic attack until you've got through this meeting. You can cope with that, surely? You never know, they might be able to disqualify you."_

That left its mark; Harry hadn't considered that pleasing possibility. With that little ray of sunshine bouncing around his mind, Harry pushed himself upright, and headed towards the room where the Champions were waiting. He pushed the door open, and stood in the doorway, looking at the trio in front of him. They seemed to have been waiting in silence, still too stunned to speak. However, Cedric raised his hand in greeting to him.

"Hey there Potter, what's up? You alright, you look like you've seen a ghost!"

Harry gave him a sickly grin, trying to work out how to tell them, but the sound of raised voices behind him suggested he wouldn't need to. Madame Maxime sounded _furious_. She burst into the room, pushing him aside roughly, and yelling in French at Dumbledore. Cedric and the others watched in confusion, until understanding suddenly dawned on Fleur's face. And now _she_ looked furious as well.

"What do you mean, 'zis… zis _boy_ will be competing as well? He iz too young! 'Ow can he 'ope to deal with ze challenges?"

Despite the fact that he had been having the same misgivings, Harry shot an annoyed glare at her. She could at least try a bit of tact. Krum and Diggory were sharing Fleur's annoyance now, by the looks on their faces. Cedric was looking a little hurt

"If everyone could be quiet a moment…" Dumbledore raised his hands for calm. Madame Maxime's voice slowly quieted, and she settled for folding her arms and glaring at Harry and Dumbledore alternately. Dumbledore fixed his no-longer twinkling eyes on Harry.

"Harry, did you put your name into the Goblet? Or ask an older student to do it for you?"

"No! Professor, I don't even want to be in this tournament! I'll gladly drop out – "

"I'm afraid that's not possible Mr Potter." The speaker was a middle-aged man in a bad suit, who looked as if his best days were behind him. Harry vaguely recognised him from photos in the Daily Prophet. "When your name came out of the Goblet, you were bound to compete for the duration of the tournament. Assuming you're not too badly injured to continue, of course."

Harry's eyes bulged at that. Too badly injured? Just what kind of thing would they be doing in this tournament? Dumbledore glanced reprovingly at the man.

"Thank you for that Barty… Let's not get pessimistic just yet, hmm?"

"No indeed Dumbledore. I am far more interested in finding out how Mr Potter managed to get his name read out!" The Durmstrang headmaster, Karkaroff, glared at Harry, but when he turned to face him head on, the older man turned away slightly, as if afraid to meet his eyes. Harry shrugged.

"I'd like to know that as well, because I didn't put my name in!"

Karkaroff scoffed, but then Moody stepped forward. "This isn't just a simple matter of an under-age student putting their name in Albus. The Goblet's a very old, very powerful object; it would take a hell of a wizard to Confund it successfully, and Potter couldn't do that. He's not that good."

"So you say Moody, but Potter is hardly the average wizard, is he? If he can break all the laws of magic and survive the Killing Curse, a Confusion spell should be simple for him!"

Moody hesitated, but clearly couldn't think up a decent response to Karkaroff's argument. Harry had to admit, it wasn't a bad point, wrong though it was. He'd never even tried to Confund something, didn't even know the incantation. And then, joy of joys, Snape stepped up to add his thoughts.

"Headmaster, while I am sure Potter tried to enter the Tournament, I do not think he has the ability to Confund the Goblet so thoroughly. Arguably more importantly, he clearly does not have the ability to survive the Tournament."

Harry really did glare at Snape then. Was it too much to ask for a little appreciation of his abilities? The Potions Master might hate him, but he'd nearly been on the receiving end of Harry's magic, he ought to know what he was capable of. Dumbledore looked too tired to argue with any of them though.

"Barty, is there any way that Harry can be removed from the Tournament? However his name came to be entered, I'm sure we can all agree that he shouldn't be competing."

Harry nodded fervently, but the man he vaguely recognised – Crouch, that was it, Barty Crouch – shook his head dolefully. "I'm sorry Albus, but it's a binding contract. Unless he's too badly injured to compete, he has to take part or risk forfeiting his magic."

Harry blinked. Forfeit his magic? "Actually, I can compete if you want me to, I'll do my best…"

Moody grinned at that, fortunately out of sight of Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. The two Headmasters looked furious with the situation, and strode off, taking their respective students with them. Silence fell in the room. Dumbledore was now looking a little upset.

"I'm sorry Harry, but it looks as if you will have to compete. For the last time, did you have anything to do with this?"

"No sir. I swear." Harry shook his head as he spoke, meeting Dumbledore's gaze steadily. Dumbledore sighed and looked away.

"Very well. It seems an investigation is in order then. Alastor?"

Moody nodded. "I'll see what I can find out."

"Thank you. Harry, Cedric – you had better return to your dorms; I'm sure that your house mates wish to celebrate as only Hogwarts students can. Congratulations to you both."

Cedric and Harry left the room in silence. Once they reached the entrance hall, Cedric turned to Harry.

"Did you really put your name in? It's a bit hard to swallow…"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't do anything, I swear. I was just looking forward to watching it!"

"People won't believe you."

"You believed me when I said I hadn't killed Zacharias Smith."

Cedric inclined his head in acknowledgement. "That's true. But it's easier to believe you're a cheat than a killer, to be fair. They're a little different, you have to admit."

"True. But still, I didn't put my name in. I don't want to compete."

Cedric stared at him for a moment, before shrugging. "Well, best of luck to you. I think you'll need it."

"And to you." Harry stared after Cedric as the older boy left. That had been… awkward.

"_Of course it was, you're stepping on his glory. He'll never get another chance like this, and you're trying to get a piece of it."_

"No I'm not! I don't want any of it!"

"_Well, you're getting it anyway. Lucky you."_

"Oh, just shut up will you?" Harry grumbled, speaking out loud this time. He walked back to Gryffindor tower in dejected silence, slumped and with his hands in his pockets. He ignored the cheery congratulations that the Fat Lady spewed at him, merely grunting the password at her before heading into the common room. He was nearly deafened by the commotion. Pretty much every student in Gryffindor house was trying to shake his hand, apparently at the same time. He forced a grin, trying to push through the crowds to find his friends. He eventually spotted them by the window, and shoved his way over to them.

"Hey there. This is crazy! I shouldn't even be in it!"

His friends looked at each other, as if embarrassed to speak. Harry looked at them all, nonplussed, then rolled his eyes.

"I didn't do this; I don't know what happened, but it's nothing to do with me."

"Do you promise?" Ginny was staring at him intently, as if it was the most important question in the world. He nodded, and she shrugged. "That's good enough for me. I know you wouldn't lie to us, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't. Does that go for the rest of you?"

The others nodded, although Ron still looked a little uncomfortable. A touch of jealousy, perhaps? Harry supposed that from the outside, he was in quite an enviable position.

"So what's going to happen? There's no way they'll let you compete, right? You don't know nearly enough to match the other Champions!" Neville seemed to be speaking out of genuine concern, but his remark still piqued Harry.

"I've had a lot of people tell me that tonight, it's getting annoying. Yeah, I'm younger than the others. That doesn't mean I'm not as good as them!"

Hermione winced. "So… What are you going to do?"

"If people don't think I can cope, I'll just have to show them that I can, won't I?"

Harry stormed off, his panic melding with his anger to create a bad mood that he was unwilling to inflict on his friends. The others looked at each other, and Hermione sighed.

"Well, this is going to be interesting, isn't it?"


	11. Everybody Talks at Harry

**Chapter 9: Everyone Talks At Harry**

Remus and Peter were waiting for him the next morning, looking very serious. Harry sighed as he saw them. He had known it was coming, but he really wasn't in the mood.

"Harry, what – "

"No, I didn't enter myself, no, I don't want to be in it. Anything else?"

Peter shot him a reproving look as Remus went silent. Harry tilted his head in silent apology, brushing his hair back out of his eyes wearily.

"I'm sorry Remus, I just didn't sleep well last night. It's a little stressful, you know?"

""Perfectly understandable. And Harry, we never thought you had entered yourself. You're not that stupid, for one thing."

"Thanks Moony, always nice to know you have confidence in me… Any word on what happened? Do they know who entered me yet? And what's going to be done to them? I hope it's painful…"

Peter smirked at that. "You're jumping the gun there a little Harry. We have no idea what happened. To be honest, Karkaroff and Madame Maxime both believe you put your name in yourself somehow, and Barty Crouch… Well, we're not sure if he's being pressured not to investigate, or if he thinks you entered yourself as well. Certainly, back in the old days, he was almost as dedicated to investigation as Moody."

"Why would someone want to stop him investigating? It can't be someone from the Ministry who entered me, can it?"

Peter and Remus looked at each other, clearly considering that possibility. Eventually, Remus shook his head. "I very much doubt it Harry. The pressure would be because this is a prestigious event for them; they don't want any negative publicity. From their perspective, the current situation is bad enough."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry to inconvenience them! Because obviously, that was my main concern…" Harry grumbled quietly. Remus reached out, tilting Harry's head back so they could look at each other properly.

"How are you feeling cub?"

"I'm…" Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Part of me's nervous – very nervous. Part of me's angry, and I really want to find out who did this. And part of me… It's weird, all I could think of last night was how utterly screwed I was, and now this morning, I'm thinking of what I'll have to do, _how_ I'll have to do it. No-one seems to think I'll get through it all, and I really want to prove them wrong, you know?"

Somewhat to his surprise, Remus threw his head back and laughed loudly. Even Peter had an uncharacteristic grin on his face.

"Oh Harry, you're your fathers son alright. That same stubborn pride." Remus shook his head, his eyes shining brightly. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to do your best cub, just don't let it blind you to the dangers. The Tournament was designed to be perilous, and for – well, for people with a little more knowledge than you. Not experience; I somehow doubt the other three have fought a basilisk for instance! But you don't know the same things that the others do. In terms of your knowledge, you're a good few years behind the other three. For Merlin's sake, be careful Harry."

"Remus, I'm hurt. When am I ever anything but careful?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

* * *

Harry walked into the Great Hall for breakfast feeling slightly more optimistic. Talking to Remus and Peter had gone much better than he had thought it would, and it was comforting to know that they had faith in his ability. Now he just needed to convince his friends that he could manage. That shouldn't be too hard, once they had calmed down. After that, it was just a matter of preparing for each challenge as best he could.

It wasn't until he was sitting down that he realised he'd forgotten other people's opinions.

Seemingly everyone sitting at the Hufflepuff table was looking at him. If looks could kill, he would have been dead a hundred times over. He hadn't really considered what they might think; given Hufflepuff's reputation, Cedric's chance at glory was near miraculous for them. And for him to intrude on it… Harry swore under his breath. He'd already had to watch his back around Hufflepuffs. It looked like he would be doing the same again.

Some of the Ravenclaws were watching him as well, although by no means all of them. They probably wouldn't cause him any trouble regardless of how they felt, although unkind words were a possibility. As for the Slytherins… Well, the only one he really got on with was Draco. The others either didn't know him at all, or didn't like him in the slightest. It was too much to expect any sympathy from them, even if they believed that he hadn't put his name in.

So, thinking optimistically, about half the school thought he was a cheating bastard. Most of the other half probably thought he was cheating, but didn't really care. Marvellous. And speaking of Slytherins… Draco suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere, taking a seat next to Harry. Conversation around them immediately halted, as the other Gryffindors gaped at a Slytherin student coming to sit with them.

"Oh, would you all grow up?" Draco sneered at them. "You'd think you'd never seen anyone with a sense of style before."

Harry grinned. "I don't think that's the problem Draco. I mean, it is you they're staring at. Possibly stunned that anyone can be so pale and still be alive?"

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised they don't recognise signs of good breeding… Anyway, that's not why I'm here. You and I need to talk."

"We do?" Harry responded, somewhat surprised.

Draco nodded. "How the hell did you get your name into the Goblet? Seriously Harry, you could have told me!"

Harry let his head fall forward, resting on the table, as Draco ranted on. Eventually, the blond noticed Harry was pretending to be asleep. "Oi! Come on Potter, pay attention!"

"Sorry Draco, but I've got better things to do. Eating some of that bacon for instance, it looks delicious."

Draco glared at his friend as Harry helped himself to a lavish portion of bacon. "I really am serious Harry, you knew I wanted to take part. You could at least have given me a hint."

"No Draco, I really couldn't, because I didn't put my name in. I don't even want to be in this bloody Tournament!" Harry had finished speaking before he realised he was waving his fork in Draco's face, a rasher of bacon still dangling from it. Draco was leaning back, a revolted expression on his face. But he was watching Harry's eyes, and as he finished speaking, the blond's expression changed.

"Oh. You're really telling the truth, aren't you?"

"Yes. Is it that hard to believe?"

"No, I guess not. Stupid of me to think anything else really, you're far too much of a teacher's pet to break the rules like that."

Harry glared at Draco, but the blond ignored him, apparently lost in thought. A moment later, and Harry almost saw the lightbulb go off over Draco's head.

"Well, if you don't want to take part, then it's simple!"

Harry blinked. Could Draco succeed where Dumbledore had failed? Draco continued, excitement beginning to shine in his eyes. "You don't want to take part. I do want to take part. It's a simple matter of substitution – we'll go to Dumbledore, and I can stand in for you!"

Harry shook his head in amusement. "Nice idea Draco, but it won't work. It's a binding magical contract."

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Oh Harry, how innocent you are. There's always a way around contracts."

"A binding contract of the 'Take part or lose your magic' variety…"

The confidence left Draco's face. "Ah. Really? Well…"

"Yeah. Besides, Dumbledore doesn't want _me_ taking part, he isn't going to let another underage student take my place."

"I suppose… We could always brew some Polyjuice potion, then people would think it was you taking part?"

"Give it up Draco, it's not going to work." Shaking his head, Harry turned his attention back to his food, devouring bacon and sausages at an obscene rate. Ordinarily, Draco would have made a comment about his table manners, but he was clearly too distracted today.

"I suppose you're right. Ah well. You'd better win, you hear me?"

Harry looked at him quizzically. "And why's that?"

"Well, you can't let Diggory win – beaten by a Hufflepuff? You'd never live the embarrassment down. At least Krum's famous. And that Delacour girl, well, she's French, you can't lose to her – Ow!"

Harry clipped Draco round the back of the head. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" Draco gave him an injured look, rubbing his head and pouting.

"The snotty Pureblood thing. It's annoying and rude. And you look like a girl when you pout."

"I do not!"

"Yep, you really do…"

"I'm sorry to break up what is no doubt a fascinating philosophical discussion, but I really must have a word with you Harry. If you could come up to my office when you have finished eating?"

Harry and Draco both turned round, both blushing slightly when they realised Dumbledore was standing behind them, his lips curved in amusement. Apparently, he had heard their banter. With a nod to them both, Dumbledore turned and walked away. Harry stood up, grabbing a couple of slices of toast to take with him.

"Thanks for the, ah, 'helpful' advice Draco. It might not have been any use, but I do genuinely appreciate the sentiment."

Draco waved away the comment. "Yes, yes, you're grateful etc etc… Just remember what I said; you'd better win!"

"See you later Draco…" Harry followed the Headmaster's path out of the Hall, munching his toast as fast as he could. Draco watched him go, still a little down over his plan's utter failure. He turned to get some bacon to cheer himself up, only to be met with a wall of glares from the other Gryffindors. He retracted his hand, and stood up slowly.

"Yes, well… I'll just – I'll just go over here, shall I?"

* * *

Harry was slightly out of breath when he arrived at Dumbledore's office. For an old man, Dumbledore had quite a turn of speed; he was sitting behind his desk, getting on with some paperwork, and appeared to have been there for some time. He looked up, a look of mild surprise on his face.

"Harry, you didn't need to rush. You should have taken your time over your breakfast, you're a growing lad."

Harry shrugged. "I'd pretty much finished anyway, and I took some toast with me."

"So I see." Dumbledore dabbed at his chin. "The blueberry jam is delicious, isn't it?"

Harry rubbed his chin, his fingers coming away a little sticky.

"Ah, that's better. Remember Harry, we have guests here; we must be at our best at all times! As the Muggles say, cleanliness is next to godliness."

Harry took a seat, bemused, as always, by Dumbledore's eccentricities. "Wizard's don't have gods sir. Not anymore, anyway. And I don't think you got me up here to talk about jam."

Dumbledore inclined his head in agreement. "As you say Harry, we have other things to discuss. First of all, I would like to apologise for my rudeness last night. I should not have doubted you; I know you better than that."

Harry shuffled awkwardly. It wasn't the first time that Dumbledore had apologised to him for something, and might not even be the last, but he would never get used to it. "Don't worry about it sir. It was a stressful evening for everyone, I know that."

"This is true Harry, but nevertheless, I was in the wrong."

"You weren't the only one though, and at least you know I'm telling the truth. I know that Karkaroff and Madame Maxime are still pissed off, and most of the school thinks I did it."

"Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime do not know you as I do Harry. As for the school, you know better than most what the rumour mill is like at this school. They'll soon change their minds – although I concede, not necessarily to anything more sensible. The Minister is annoyed as well; he believes you are interfering with his carefully laid diplomatic plans."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Does he really think I care?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I did suggest as much to him, but I'm sure you know what Cornelius Fudge is like. He was sadly unprepared to believe me. I suspect he does not want to even consider the possibility of a conspiracy."

Harry straightened up, beginning to take things more seriously. "You think that's true then? That someone put my name in as more than a joke?"

"A harsh joke indeed, if that is the case Harry. Any of the contestants are at risk during the Tournament, especially one who does not have the knowledge of his competitors."

"Do you think I'll be able to cope?" Harry asked, curious as to the Headmaster's opinion.

Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully, considering. "You don't have anywhere near the amount of knowledge the other three will have access to, and private research before the tasks will help you only so much. In addition, you are only fourteen. They are more developed, mentally, physically, and magically – and that would be the case even without your particular difficulties in keeping your magic stable. On the other hand, you have more experience with – well, shall we say, more exciting areas of life? You are less likely to panic, or find the experience too alien to deal with. And while your magic may not be as settled as theirs, you are more than a match for any of them in terms of power. I would say that you have an equal chance of victory as any of them – no better, no worse."

Harry nodded, satisfied with that judgement. "It's been a while since I lost control though; I'm getting much better."

"Aside from the start of term, when you lashed out at Professor Moody?" Dumbledore said with a gentle smile. Harry flushed, and bowed his head. "Don't worry, it was perfectly understandable. Alastor was trying to provoke you, after all. And he is so very good at his job."

"That's one way of putting it, yes." Harry mumbled. Before Dumbledore could pass comment on this, Harry carried on where they had left off. "Do you have any idea who might have put my name in?"

"Several, actually. Of course, there should be no way for them to get into the castle, we have taken rather extensive precautions against such things." Seeing Harry's confusion, Dumbledore elaborated. "Rosier, the Carrow twins… Sirius."

"Ah. Yes, of course. Should have guessed really, shouldn't I?" There was an unmistakeable touch of bitterness in Harry's voice. "Seems a rather elaborate way to kill me off though."

"Harry, Rosier at the very least is insane. The Carrows were certainly never bright, and may be worse now. And Sirius – well, clearly, we never truly understood Sirius." There was a moment of silence. "And of course, that is assuming that they are the ones who made the plan. I have never pretended to truly fathom how Voldemort thinks. For all we know, you may not actually be supposed to die."

"Well, that would be nice. I'm not too keen on dying if I'm perfectly honest."

"So I would imagine, and I am pleased to hear it. Rest assured Harry, while there may be no official investigation, no stone will be left uncovered in our search for the truth."

"I know sir. I do trust you, you know."

Dumbledore blinked. "Well… That is most – most gratifying to hear Harry. Thank you. Anyway, all I really wished to say was that I am sorry for last night, that it is being investigated, one way or another, and that you should be very careful throughout the Tournament."

"Don't worry sir. I will be."

"Excellent. And now, is there anything you wish to discuss? I suspect you may have a fair few questions."

Harry opened his mouth to deny this, and was suddenly filled with a desire to tell Dumbledore everything he had been doing for the last few months. Titus, his training in dark – or darkish – magic, his desire to learn wandless magic… But he closed his mouth, and shook his head. Dumbledore looked at him shrewdly.

"Well. When you do want to discuss it, you know where I am Harry. My door is always open."

Harry blinked. How did Dumbledore do that? He always seemed to know when people were lying. He contented himself with nodding, before getting up to leave. Dumbledore watched him leave. As the door closed, he sighed, and rubbed his eyes wearily. In the corner of the office, Fawkes crooned softly.

"You're quite right Fawkes. There is little I can do for him at the moment. Harry's fate lies in the hands of much more powerful beings than I… Good luck to you my boy."


	12. Interlude: The Game's Afoot

**Interlude: The Game's Afoot**

Barty Crouch Jr strolled leisurely into the room, a broad grin on his face. Sirius concealed his irritation with the ease of many years practice; Crouch was friendly enough, but he found his attitude a little irksome. The foppish Pureblood had signed up to the Death Eaters because of his passionate bigotry. In Crouch's view, if you weren't Pureblood, you weren't worth the oxygen you breathed. Sirius had occasionally wondered how he might react if he ever found out the truth of the Dark Lord's heritage. And the man had no spiritual appreciation of their Lord. He clearly recognised that their Lord was powerful, and that he was different to ordinary wizards, but he placed no value on the rich wildness of the magic. He didn't care about magic's roots.

However, despite the man's ideological failings, he was a capable spy, and had brought a lot of useful information to the cause. And judging by the look of satisfaction on his face, he had good news to report.

"Well, my servant? What have you to report?" The Lord Voldemort didn't look up as his follower approached, his gaze fixed intently on the flickering fire in front of him. The snake Nagini was wound around her master's chair, hissing softly to him. Occasionally, Voldemort would respond. Crouch kneeled by his Lord's chair, his eyes downcast.

"Greetings my Lord. I have just been dining with my father, who passed on good news. The plan went smoothly; Potter has been picked as a Champion!"

"And the other competitors? Will Potter be able to win on his own, or will further 'assistance' be required?"

"Viktor Krum, the Quidditch player, for Durmstrang. Fleur Delacour, for Beauxbatons. And Cedric Diggory, for Hogwarts. Other than Krum, there doesn't seem to be anything particularly special about them. Diggory is a decent student, and has political connections – his father works in the Ministry. Delacour is a half-breed, part-Veela." Crouch was unable to contain an ugly sneer.

"People have often said there was nothing special about Potter, either, that he is only lucky. He has consistently proven them wrong. Tell our man to watch, but do nothing unless instructed. We shall see how Potter copes with the first task. And has your father mentioned what the first task will be, Bartemius?"

Crouch smiled, cruelly. "He hasn't gone into details – doesn't want to spoil the surprise, apparently – but he did say that dragons would be involved…"

_That_ got Voldemort's attention. He looked up, eyes widened in surprise. "They'll be fighting dragons? I wish it could be there, it sounds like fun. The chance to watch my sworn enemy get roasted alive… I can almost picture it now." His face took on an almost wistful air, and there was silence for a moment. Then he sighed. "Never mind, the penseive memories will have to suffice. Make sure you obtain them Sirius."

Sirius bowed his head. "It will be done, my Lord."

"And what of the other factors? How have people reacted?" Voldemort turned his attention back to Crouch as he spoke.

"My father tells me that the Minister is furious. He believes Potter and Dumbledore are conspiring to cause tension between the schools. Most of the students, from all three schools, seem to believe that Potter cheated – although not all them care that he cheated, of course. We will know more when the press starts reporting what has happened of course, but it doesn't paint him in a terribly good light so far. On that note, I hear that Rita Skeeter is not a fan of Potter – apparently, the last time they met, he set her notebook on fire, or something of that nature. She could be useful."

A vicious grin spread across Voldemort's face. "Then it may soon be time for phase two… again, that can wait until after the first task. There's little point in carrying it out if Harry does not survive, after all."

Confusion flickered across Crouch's face, and Voldemort stared at him. "Do you have a question, Crouch?"

"Forgive me my Lord… But if you do not expect Potter to survive, then why focus your plan on him? There are many other wizards or witches who would suffice, surely?"

"And three of them are competing alongside him, yes. Potter is the only person to survive one of my personal attacks. He is clearly a very powerful wizard for his age, and he has caused much damage to me and to my servants. Quite apart from the inherent power of his blood, there is a great deal of symbolic power in using him. However, should he not survive the Tournament – or even if he doesn't win it – the winner will suffice, as you say. They are all young, and clearly gifted, otherwise they would not have been chosen to compete. Potter is the ideal, but others will be satisfactory, should he escape our grasp. That is _not_ an excuse for failure though, do you understand?"

Crouch bowed his head once more. "Of course my Lord. We shall take him, or die trying."

"I am delighted to hear it – " Voldemort broke off, hissing in pain and clutching his misshapen head. Sirius darted forward, his voice tinged with concern.

"My Lord? Are you alright?"

"Evidently not, you fool." Sirius flushed as Voldemort glared at him. His Lord sat up straighter, clearly struggling. "Is our guest sufficiently well to be drained?"

"He is, my Lord. Is that all you require?"

"Yes. It is past time for my sustenance. My body cannot fail me before the ritual."

Sirius bowed. "I shall return directly, my Lord." He turned on his heel, sweeping out of the door of the bedroom and hurrying down the stairs. Rosier was sitting in the kitchen, doodling on a scrap of paper. It was quite pleasant, unless you looked too closely at what he was drawing. He looked up at Sirius's entrance.

"What's the hurry Black?"

"Our Lord requires his evening meal. Plenty of blood this time, it makes the venom taste sweeter."

"Of course!" Rosier bounded to his feet, smiling broadly. "I'm sure our guest has been missing me. I do so enjoy our little conversations. I'll bring it up immediately."

As Rosier disappeared, Sirius paused to get himself a glass of water. As he drank it, screams began to echo up from the cellar, and he smiled. Rosier did so enjoy his work.


	13. The Balance of Things

**Chapter 10: The Balance of Things**

As the week passed, people's opinions gradually became more apparent to Harry. You didn't need to be a genius to work out that if someone was wearing a 'Potter Stinks!' badge, then they probably felt he was cheating and in the wrong by being in the Tournament. And, true to his original guess, about half the school was wearing them. Pretty much all of Hufflepuff, and a few Ravenclaws and Slytherins. No Gryffindors wore them, which was cheering. He would have been more than a little disheartened had any of his housemates opposed him. He was also gratified to see that Cedric was not wearing one of the badges, although it had to be said, he was not exactly speaking out against them.

Public opinion had also put him in a new situation – fearing Herbology more than Potions. At least with Snape you expected the bile and sarcastic abuse. Getting the cold shoulder from Professor Sprout was like a family pet suddenly ignoring you, and his marks had mysteriously gone down. Not unfairly so, she could not be accused of that – but she was much more strict about housepoints where he was concerned now.

The Beauxbatons students all seemed to be following their Headmistress's lead, which was a little disconcerting, if not all that upsetting. But there was something about the way they all swivelled to face him, glowering, whenever he walked past any of them in the corridors. It was like a hive mind – as Hermione put it, a bit 'Stepford'. As Ron put it, 'women'… although not when Hermione was around. The Durmstrang students didn't seem to pay any attention to him, for the most part. Then again, they didn't seem to talk to anyone from either of the other schools, unless they absolutely had to. He had seen Krum a couple of times in the library; he seemed to read even more than Hermione, were such a thing possible.

Another week passed, and reports started appearing in the Prophet about the Champions. Harry was unsurprised to find that he was labelled a cheat – given his last meeting with Rita Skeeter, he was actually flattered by what she was saying. She could have been much ruder. More worrisome was the promise of exclusive interviews with each Champion, to be published in future issues… The prospect of another meeting with the odious reporter was very unsettling, although the possibility of setting more of her belongings on fire amused him.

And then, one day, he was dragged out of Potions for the Weighing of the Wands ceremony.

* * *

Harry followed Colin Creevey up the grand staircase from the dungeons, carefully not listening to the excitable boy's stream of chatter. He managed to avoid Colin for the most part, although he could not say the boy was unpleasant. Just exceptionally irritating. However, sometimes it was unavoidable, and Harry had quickly learnt the art of nodding and smiling at the right times.

"…And there's a reporter here from the Prophet as well Harry!"

"That's nice Colin… Wait, what? A reporter? Who?"

"I don't know," Colin shrugged vacantly. "I didn't catch her name. Blonde, quite short – lots of make-up"

Harry groaned. He recognised that description. Rita Skeeter herself. How marvellous.

Things got even better when he got into the room. No-one had really described what the ceremony would entail; he had had curious visions of his wand being placed on some scales, and being disqualified for being too heavy. However, when he arrived, and saw Mr Ollivander there, he realised that he must have been wildly off target. The old man – assuming he was a man, of course – smiled briefly at him, an unnerving expression on the wrinkled face. Once again, Harry felt as if those moon-like eyes were looking straight through him.

He grimaced slightly. He wasn't a huge fan of the wandmaker. His enthusiasm over the twin wand was even more distasteful now than it had been three years ago, now that Harry had first hand experience of Voldemort's followers, if not the man himself.

And yes, Colin had been right. Rita Skeeter was standing against the wall, examining the group of Champions hungrily. Harry could almost feel her desire for a story, and then her eyes locked on him. A predatory smile spread over her face, and she whipped her notebook out.

"_You could always set fire to _her_ this time._"

"A little extreme, don't you think?"

"_Just saying…_"

"I'll bear it in mind."

Harry made his way over to the other Champions. Fleur gave him a sneer that Draco would have been proud of, before turning away, while Cedric merely acknowledged him with a grunt. Krum, however, stretched out his hand to him.

"Ah, Potter, yes? I am Krum, Viktor Krum."

"Er… Yes, I know. I saw you at the World Cup. You fly brilliantly."

"Thank you. I hear that you would know, yes? You fly well."

"I try. Well, I'm pretty good, to be honest."

Krum quirked an eyebrow at that. "But you are not modest though. I like that. People should acknowledge their abilities. And how do you think you will do in this tournament?"

Harry shrugged, considering his answer. Eventually, he decided to be honest. "I don't know. I can only do my best, right?"

Krum grinned, almost savagely. "I look forward to seeing your best. We will be good competition, yes?"

Harry's lips twitched. "I would hope so."

"If you could all join us over here now please?" Dumbledore's voice rang around the room, beckoning them over to where he was standing with Ollivander and Skeeter. The Champions all trudged over to them; Harry could tell that this, at least, was one area that all four of them could agree on. Ollivander started with Krum, examining his wand before conjuring some wine with it. All he seemed to be doing was checking that it was in good working order, and Harry relaxed slightly. He knew that he had nothing to worry about there; he couldn't even imagine not taking good care of his wand. He would be crippled without it. Ollivander shook Krum's hand, and then processed up the line, testing Fleur and Cedric's wands, before finally arriving at Harry. He smiled, rubbing his hands with glee.

"Ah, Mr Potter! It's good to see you again – I was right, wasn't I? I knew we could expect great things from you, and here you are!"

Harry forced a smile, and spoke in flat, dull tones. "Hello Mr Ollivander. It's – nice to see you again, I'm sure."

The wandmaker didn't seem to notice Harry's forced politeness, although a reproving glare from Dumbledore suggested that he hadn't been that subtle. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Rita watching them, her Quick-Quotes Quill scribbling away furiously. Ollivander took Harry's wand gently from his hand, examining it carefully.

"Holly, phoenix feather core… Unusual. You've done powerful magic with this wand Mr Potter, very powerful. I can smell it."

Harry raised his eyebrows quizzically at that. The wandmaker could smell magic? He'd never heard of that. And the fact that someone he'd now met twice could tell what magic he'd been doing was more than a little unnerving. The fact that he'd announced it to the room was annoying though; Skeeter looked as if Christmas had come early, and the other Champions were looking at him intently. Ollivander seemed oblivious to this though, and conjured a flock of birds with a flourish.

"Excellent condition Mr Potter. It has clearly served you well. Good luck for the tournament." And so saying, Ollivander shook Harry's hand. The moon like eyes opened wide with shock, and the old man opened his mouth to say something, but Dumbledore appeared as if from nowhere, inviting Ollivander over for a drink. The headmaster led the wandmaker away, but Ollivander looked back over his shoulder, his expression one of shock – and was that awe?

Before Harry had time to process this, a hand clamped down heavily on his shoulder. He whirled away, his wand leaping to his hand – but he relaxed, realising that it was only Rita Skeeter. Actually, he mused, cursing her wouldn't be a bad idea. The reporter smiled sweetly at him, and he returned an equally false smile.

"Hello again Harry, so good to see you once more. You're looking well, I must say."

"Miss Skeeter. You're looking a lot better than the last time we met."

Rita's face flickered with anger, and Harry felt his heart swell with pleasure, vaguely cheered by this. Rita forced a smile back to her face.

"Thank you. Most kind, I'm sure. Perhaps you'd agree to a quick interview? We're doing them with all the Champions – how about youngest first?"

Harry considered whether it was worth the effort, and then shrugged. "Rita, we both know that you'll write whatever you want, regardless of what I say to you. Why don't we spare ourselves the time and effort, and just accept that whatever you say, I'll either be very amused, or driven to curse you. Goodbye."

Rita stiffened in anger, and Harry walked away, grinning to himself. That had been fun, although most likely ill-advised. Her voice echoed after him.

"Just one question Harry; do you think your parents would be proud of your resourcefulness, or ashamed that you turned out to be a dishonourable cheat?"

Harry stopped, and turned on his heel, speechless with fury. It was only Titus yelling at him that stopped him drawing his wand there and then. How dare she? He started to walk back towards her, but Dumbledore was suddenly beside him, whispering quietly.

"Don't Harry. She's not worth it, and she can make your life a misery if you do anything."

Harry looked up into the old man's eyes for a long moment, before nodding sullenly. Rita smiled at him happily.

"Good luck with the Tournament Harry…"

As Harry watched her move over to talk to the other Champions – who were now all looking at her with mutual disgust – he could feel his anger still burning inside him, driving him on to do _something_. He was feeling reckless. He started breathing deeply, focussing on his magic, letting the feeling of it fill his body. He slowly prepared to do wandless magic for the first time outside his training sessions. He concentrated on what he wanted to do, and pushed his magic out towards his fingertips. He discretely raised his hand, making sure no-one was looking. And, with a final mental push, he unleashed his built up magic. Skeeter's notebook, floating behind her, suddenly vanished completely, the overpowered Vanishing charm that Harry had cast wiping it out without a trace.

As sounds of confusion began to come over from the group, Harry helped himself to a drink and a sandwich. He smirked to himself gleefully. The wandless magic had been hard to do, but it had clearly been successful.

* * *

"Now, this is a useful little spell, if you can pull it off correctly. Risky, but useful." Moody paced back and forth along the front of the classroom, all eyes on him. He leaned his staff against his desk, and drew his wand. With a flick, the incantation for the spell appeared on the blackboard: _Haurio_. Beside Harry, Hermione sat up in her seat, her eyes widening with interest. At the front of the room, Moody jabbed his wand forward, and a large, flickering purple circle appeared at the tip. After a moment, Harry realised that he had seen it before; it was the shield charm that Hermione had tried and failed to perform against him in their duel at the start of term.

"The _Haurio_ shield charm is different to other shield spells. Most of them just block your opponent's spell; this one sucks all the magic out of it. Once done, you can either cast a more powerful duplicate of the spell you blocked back at them, or you can temporarily take the absorbed magic into yourself, and use it to power another spell. The first option is easier – and safer – to do. Absorbing someone else's magic into your own magical core, even if it's only for a few minutes, can cause great stress on your system. Wizards have died through doing it." He smiled grimly. "Don't let that stop you though, should you feel the urge. Just bear in mind the risks… Now, a demonstration. Malfoy, step forward!"

Draco groaned quietly to himself, and slid out of his chair, approaching Moody with a wary expression on his face. Moody glared at him.

"Don't look so miserable, all you're going to be doing is trying to curse me. Look on it as an opportunity – not many people get it. Oh, and anything too rough, and I will kick your arse all over this room, just so we're clear."

"I don't doubt it Professor," Draco smiled sweetly at Moody, but Harry could see him gripping his wand tightly. Moody trudged back a few paces, and beckoned at Draco, inviting him to attack. Draco shrugged, and raised his wand with a flourish.

"_Reducto!_"

The bolt of blue light flew towards Moody, but was met mid-air by a swiftly cast _haurio_ charm, and the blue flickered and died, while the purple circle glowed slightly. There was a seconds pause, during which Moody shifted his aim slightly, and then another bolt of blue light, brighter this time, shot out of the circle, impacting against the far wall with a light crack. Dust fell from the wall, and some of the students whistled appreciatively. Hermione leant over to Harry.

"That's what I was trying to do the other week. You'd have felt that, I assure you!"

"I certainly would have done; if you'd doubled that, with the amount of power that I put behind it, you'd probably have broken my spine or something…"

"Oh, don't be such a wimp. You'd have been fine, and you know it," Hermione responded with a playful glare. Harry shrugged with a grin, and they both tuned back into the lesson. Moody was dictating notes to them, before splitting them up to try it in groups. Harry was paired off with Neville. His friend grinned nervously at him.

"Be gentle with me Harry – you know I'm not very good at this kind of thing…"

Harry shrugged. "I will be, don't worry. But you should at least learn what we're taught in lessons Nev, surely?"

Neville looked away, shuffling his feet. "I guess. Come on, throw a spell at me, lets see how I do, huh?"

"You're the boss… _Depello!_"

With a bit of a whimper, Neville jabbed his wand forward, calling out the incantation, and the purple circle shimmered into existence. The spell hit the circle and vanished completely, much to Neville's apparent surprise; his wand bucked in his hand, and the circle glowed brighter. Before Harry could congratulate him, his Expelling hex was hurtling back towards him, at double the power. He ducked, quickly. As the spell thudded against the wall behind him, he straightened up slowly, staring at his friend, who was staring at his wand in shock.

"Nice one Nev! Didn't know you had it in you!"

Neville blinked and shook his head. "Neither did I, to be perfectly honest. How the hell did I do that?"

"That was pretty good Longbottom. Especially for a first attempt."

Harry stiffened in shock. How did he do that? Once again, Moody had shown up as if from nowhere. It was a little creepy. Neville turned to the professor.

"Thank you sir; I've never been much good at this kind of thing to be honest, I've no idea how I managed it."

Moody looked at him appraisingly. "Really? Any idea why that is?"

Neville winced. "Well… I don't – I'm not really a fan of duelling, and defence. Bad memories, you know? I prefer to try pacifistic approaches where I can."

"An admirable philosophy," Moody nodded approvingly, "If not always workable. Hmm… your magic can sometimes attune itself to your preferences. If you don't like a particular branch of magic, then you can sometimes develop a kind of block towards it. Equally, if you have a preference for something, then it's possible that you'll grow to find it comes naturally to you, instead of just learning it thoroughly. There might be something like that happening with you, you never know."

As Neville pondered that, Moody looked over at Harry. "What about you Potter, have you tried it yet?"

Harry shook his head. "No sir."

"Well, let's see how you do. Longbottom…"

Neville snapped out of his reverie, and stepped back up to face Harry. With a flick of his wand, he sent a Flipendo jinx at Harry, and as he cast the Haurio charm, Harry concealed a sigh. That spell was only any good if you could put a lot of power behind it, and Neville couldn't – or wouldn't at least. The jinx dissolved into the shield charm, and Harry felt a small rush of power travel up his arm. It felt strange, almost sickly, as if something alien had entered his body, but this sensation quickly dimmed until it had disappeared entirely. Fairly sure of what had just happened, Harry dispelled the Haurio, and cast a Lumos charm instead. Sure enough, the light was brighter than he had ever cast before, although not significantly. Moody actually looked impressed.

"Well, you certainly don't have any problems with it Potter. How are you feeling? Absorbing someone else's magic like that can be rough."

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "It felt a little weird at first, but it was fine after a moment. I barely noticed it."

"Hmm. Well, five house points to you both."

Harry and Neville grinned at each other, and went to pack up. As they wandered back to their desks, Moody leant over to speak to Harry.

"How're you feeling Potter? You know, regarding the whole tournament. Can't be easy for you…"

Harry snorted with bitter laughter. "That's one way of putting it, yeah. No, I'm… I'm feeling better about it. I'm still pisse – that is to say, I'm still angry I was entered, but there's not a lot I can do at the moment? Better to concentrate on doing my best, even winning, if possible."

Moody nodded, slowly. "Impressive. That's a good attitude to take Potter. Quick word of advice – stick to your strengths. You know what you're good at, and that could win you the tournament. It might be particularly useful during the first task…

With that, Moody stomped away, barking out advice and instructions. Harry watched him go, rather confused by the whole affair, before shrugging. There had to be something more to what Moody had said than was immediately apparent. He was hardly likely to use magic he had no idea about to tackle the tournament, was he? No doubt it would become clear in due course.

* * *

Harry stared at the dragons in stunned silence, letting Hagrid's prattle wash over him. He felt sick. Dragons? They had to take on a dragon? All the confidence that had gradually built up in him vanished in a heartbeat. The others had been right. He was going to get killed, he knew it. As he watched them, one of the dragons, enormous, clearly angry, and _terrifying_, spat a gout of flame at the wizards trying to pacify it. Even fifty yards away, Harry could feel the heat of the white-hot flame pressing against him, and he closed his eyes against the sight.

"Well? What'cha think? Beautiful creatures, ain't they! Course, I wouldn't want to be the one goin' agains' them. Can't imagine that'd be much fun ter be honest."

"Hagrid, believe me; I know exactly what you mean. I couldn't agree more," Harry responded with a nervous laugh. Hagrid turned his head, concern evident behind his bushy beard.

"What, you don't think you'll manage? You're brilliant at this kinda thing Harry! You'll be fine!"

Harry shook his head disbelievingly. "Hagrid, it's a bloody dragon! I'm going to get roasted alive, you do realise that? I'm fourteen years old, I haven't even taken my O.W.L.s yet – I might be powerful, but seriously, I don't stand a chance! I mean, just look at it…" Harry waved his arm in the direction of the dragon enclosure, where six wizards were peppering the largest dragon with spells, trying to subdue it. "Six of them, Hagrid. Six. Six adult, fully grown, fully trained wizards, and I'm expected to take it on by myself? It's insane! I don't know anything that's going to help me against one of them!"

Hagrid opened and shut his mouth rapidly, clearly trying to think of something to say. But then he looked away, speechless. It seemed that his love of dangerous animals was not entirely blinding, and that he could appreciate what Harry was feeling. Harry himself was fighting the urge to vomit at the task in front of him. Suddenly, there was a snapping noise behind them; as quick as he could, Harry whirled his invisibility cloak over his shoulders, vanishing from sight. He was well aware that he should absolutely _not_ be there.

Beside him, Hagrid cleared his throat, and started to blush as Madame Maxime headed through the trees. Harry knew she was large, but it was only now, seeing her next to Hagrid, that he realised quite how tall she was. In fact, he would have laid good money on her being a half-giant, like Hagrid. For the first time since she had arrived at Hogwarts, Harry saw her smile, and he realised that this was Hagrid's idea of a date.

Swearing bitterly to himself, he strode away, still hunched under the cloak. He hadn't walked far before he had to duck behind a tree to avoid bumping into Karkaroff. He watched the headmaster creep towards the dragon enclosure with a cynical smile. And both the visiting headteachers had complained about rule violation!

His walk back to the castle was clouded with anger and fear, his thoughts barely rational. It was not until he was within sight of the castle doors that the fog began to clear, and he slowed, his mind starting to tick over with thought. He had seen the dragons. So had Madame Maxime, certainly, and it was highly likely that Karkaroff would see them. That meant, surely, that Fleur and Krum would know what was to come as well.

Who was going to tell Cedric?

For a long moment, Harry stood there, conflicting thoughts warring with each other. On the one hand, he now had an advantage over the one person whose abilities he could at least hazard a guess at. On the other hand, no matter how much he wanted to win, he wanted to do so fairly. It would be far from fair to allow Cedric to compete at such a disadvantage. Nobody else would tell him…

"_That honourable streaks going to get you into trouble one of these days, you know. Try thinking about yourself for a change; you'll be way ahead of the game."_

"I can't do that. It's not right, Titus. Cedric deserves the same chance as any of us. And it's not even that much of an advantage, it's not like I've got any idea how to fight the damn thing."

"_I still say you're an idiot, but it's not like I'm going to get into any trouble over it is it? Just remember what'll happen if you're caught with knowledge of what's going to be happening… As for fighting it, don't worry. I've got a couple of ideas that you might like."_

"Seriously?" Harry could admit to being impressed. It was at times like this that he was intensely grateful for his mysterious guest. He could be annoying, rude, and smug, but he sometimes came up with the goods.

"_Yep. Well, one at least – you'll need to do a bit of reading to check some aspects of the other, but I think it'll work. And if I'm right, then you owe Moody a big bottle of firewhiskey…"_

"What do you mean?"

* * *

Cedric was a hard man to get hold of.

He never seemed to go anywhere on his own, always with a group of friends. And Harry didn't have much time to warn him. There was a week to go before the first task, but they would both need to train. He had tried to catch him after breakfast, but the other Hufflepuffs had formed a human shield against him. He was beginning to get annoyed by their behaviour, rational considerations of their grievance be damned. His next opportunity had been during the morning break, but then he simply hadn't been able to find Cedric at all. That left lunchtime – he could at least be guaranteed to find Cedric in the Great Hall.

Sure enough, Cedric was there, although still surrounded by his friends. Why did he have to be so popular? Didn't he ever just need a moment to gather his thoughts alone? There wasn't much to be done for it though; Harry just had to bite the bullet. Gritting his teeth, and bracing himself for a hail of jibes, he walked over to the group. Their chatter ceased as he approached, and he forced a smile to his face, pretending he couldn't nearly smell the disdain coming off them. Cedric quirked an eyebrow at him, the only greeting he received. Swallowing his pride, Harry spoke up.

"Mind if we have a word?"

There were a few sniggers from the crowd, and Cedric shrugged. "Sure. Fire away."

"I was thinking it could be a little more private, actually," Harry ground out, his eyes narrowing.

"Aww, don't be embarrassed Potter – we won't bite!" Someone in the crowd jeered at him. Cedric silenced them with a gesture, and Harry grudgingly awarded him a mental point. The Hufflepuff was clearly respected a great deal, and not just because of his looks and his ability on the Quidditch pitch – he seemed to be a natural leader. Slowly, Cedric stood up.

"Ok. Lead the way, if you must. I'll see you guys in a bit, ok?"

Harry smiled at him gratefully, before turning on his heel and leading the way out of the hall. Cedric followed him nonchalantly, his hands in his pockets. He did not look terribly interested in anything Harry had to say. Finding a secluded corner, Harry checked they were alone, looking up and down the corridor. Cedric frowned in confusion, and straightened up. Some of Harry's urgent seriousness seemed to seep into him as well, as he looked around nervously.

"Look Potter, what do you want? Stop messing around, get on with it."

"Dragons," Harry said to him, quietly. Cedric stared back at him blankly.

"What about them?"

"They're the first task, we've got to take on a dragon."

Cedric laughed derisively. "A dragon. Is that really the best you can come up with Potter? They're not going to set a dragon on us. If you're going to lie, at least have the decency to respect my intelligence."

"I'm serious Cedric," Harry's voice rose in pitch, his urgency getting the better of him, and Cedric looked at him suspiciously. "I've seen them, and in a week, we're going to have to fight them."

Cedric looked at him in silence, and, very slowly, his expression changed. Harry didn't know what he'd said, or what in his face had convinced the other boy, but he could tell that Cedric now believed him.

"Seriously – dragons?" Cedric whispered incredulously. Harry nodded. Cedric swallowed nervously, running his hand through his hair, and leant against the wall. "How do you know? And why are you telling me?"

Harry hesitated, debating what to tell him. He didn't want to get Hagrid into trouble, after all. "I… went for a walk. I don't always stick to the path, if you know what I mean…" A look of understanding passed between them. "And – well, I just found them. Thing is, Madame Maxime and Karkaroff have seen them as well; I'd be willing to bet they'll have told Fleur and Krum as well, wouldn't you?"

Cedric nodded absently. He had gone pale, and his mind was clearly elsewhere – quite understandably, in Harry's opinion. Suddenly he frowned, and looked sharply at Harry.

"That doesn't explain why you're telling me. You'd have a hell of an advantage if you kept this a secret."

Harry nodded, acknowledging the truth of the statement. "I know… But it wouldn't be fair. I try to act – I dunno, honourably, I guess, when I can. You deserve the same chance as the rest of us, don't you?"

Cedric looked at him, and shook his head, a wry smile breaking out over his face. "Damn Potter, you really are something else. And you really don't want to be in this tournament, do you?"

Harry shook his head, inwardly cheering to himself. Someone outside his immediate group of friends believed him! And not just an ordinary pupil – his ostensible rival! In the spirit of fairness though, he felt he should explain his position.

"I don't want to be in it, no – but since I am, you can be sure I'll do everything I can to win it…"

Cedric grinned. "Fair enough. I can't argue with that I guess." He turned serious again, his deep brown eyes fixed on Harry's. "I'm sorry Potter. My housemates… they just don't like seeing you, I dunno – "

"Muscling in? I understand why they're annoyed Cedric, believe me."

"It's got to annoy you though – I'll try and get them to stop."

"I'd appreciate that. But let's face it – in a week, I'll be fighting a dragon. I've got bigger things to worry about than a few childish badges!"

Cedric smiled ruefully. "Fair point. Good luck… And thank you. Seriously, thank you."

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Don't mention it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try and fight a way to fight a dragon. Good luck to you too."

He walked away. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that Cedric was still leaning against the wall, all the blood drained from his face. Cedric seemed to be taking worse than he himself had, and for a moment he wondered why. But of course, Cedric led a normal life – although Harry was terrified by the thought of facing a dragon, such encounters were not wholly unusual. He had experience of such adventures. Cedric might be a good student, but he had none of Harry's real experience. Now that he thought about it, Harry felt sorry for Cedric. He suspected the older boy would not be getting much sleep over the next few nights.

"_It's not like you will either Harry – you're going to be training, hard. What you're going to do will not be easy, and there'll be no room to screw up. Get to the Chamber as quick as you can tonight; it's going to be a long session._"

"This had better be good Titus."

"_Don't worry Harry. If you can pull this off, no-one's going to doubt your ability ever again…"_


	14. Dancing With Dragons

**A/N:** Many thanks to Hellinbrand for betaing this chapter.

**Chapter 11: Dancing With Dragons**

On the morning of the first task, Harry woke up far earlier than he would have liked. His nerves were jangling, his adrenaline pumping, and his head buzzing with anxiety. Anxiety, not terror; Titus had indeed given him some intensive training, and Harry was feeling much more confident than he had been a week ago. He had to admit, there was a part of him that was actually excited about this. True, it was a very, very small part of him, but the excitement was still there, refusing to be ignored.

He checked the clock, and groaned when he realised that there were seven hours to go until the task was due to start. What was he supposed to do in the meantime? There was no way he was going to get back to sleep now, his mind was throbbing with activity. Sighing softly to himself, he pulled himself out of bed, and, after getting ready for the day, wandered down to the common room to run over the spells he planned to use.

"_Are you ok?_"

"I'll be fine… assuming I don't freeze up with terror when I actually get face to face with it. I don't know which of them I'll be facing yet, and they all looked vicious!"

"_Just remember the routine, and you'll be fine. Keep your distance so it can't claw you, and the flame shouldn't be too much of a problem if you keep your cool… No pun intended, of course."_

Harry rolled his eyes. "That was dreadful. And while I'm grateful for the concern, it's a little unusual… Should I be worried?"

"_Hey, you're not the only one at risk of getting crispy fried here you know! My arse is on the line as well!_"

"You don't have one – you're a disembodied voice in my head." Harry pointed out, not unreasonably. Titus responded with a rude noise, and Harry imagined that, if Titus had one, he would have been sticking his tongue out.

"_I was speaking metaphorically – I'll still get killed if you get killed._"

"Ironic, given that you spent most of last year begging me to cast fire spells at you…"

"_Oh shut up. Just concentrate on avoiding the massive balls of fire being spat at you, and you'll be fine._"

"It's pearls of wisdom like that which remind me why I take your advice, you know that?"

"_Ha-ha. You know full well that I'm smarter than you, Potter!_"

"Well, let's see if I get out of this alive before we pass judgement on that, shall we?" Harry muttered aloud.

"What was that Harry?"

Harry almost jumped out of his seat in panic. When he looked up, rearranging his glasses to see properly, Ginny was revealed, watching him with a slight smile of surprise at his reaction. He grinned sheepishly at her, a little embarrassed.

"Erm… Just thinking aloud, you know. Running over things for the task, making sure I'm prepared."

A shadow of concern passed over her face, her smile disappearing, to be replaced by sombre seriousness. She had nearly cried when Harry had told her and the others that he would be up against a dragon in the first task. Not that the others had reacted much better; they all seemed convinced that they were going to see him killed. Frankly, the best reaction he had had was from Fred and George, claiming they would be sad to see him go, but could at least make some money out of it. That had at least made him snigger, despite himself. Pushing himself off the chair, he approached her and enveloped her in a hug. She buried her head in his shoulder, squeezing him very tightly – Ginny had learnt how to hug from her mother, and had learnt well. Wincing, Harry extricated himself and smiled down at her.

"Don't worry about me, Ginny. I'll be fine. I've got all the spells I need memorized, it's just a matter of concentration. Come on, how many times are you going to see me fight a dragon?"

"Knowing you, more often than can be good for you, I'm sure."

Harry cocked his head, considering this, and shrugged. "Well, I would hope not. I'm crossing my fingers for this being a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"I hope so," Ginny agreed with him fervently. There was a moment's companionable silence. "How are you going to beat it?"

Harry grinned secretively at her. "Ginny, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. Let's just say, if my plan A comes off, you're going to love it…"

* * *

Harry approached the Champions tent in a fresh state of panic. As he had been sitting in the Great Hall at breakfast, forcing some toast down under Hermione's watchful gaze, he had suddenly realised that he had no idea what they were supposed to wear for the task. What did he have that was suitable for fighting a dragon? He had his school robes, a variety of jeans and shirts, his Quidditch robes – tough, but not that tough – and his fencing kit, never used at Hogwarts; that was technically bullet proof, but it wouldn't do him much good against magical fire. And he hadn't really known how to ask any of the officials – he could hardly say to them 'Excuse me, none of my clothes are suitable for dragon slaying' when he wasn't supposed to know about the dragons. In the end, he had chosen his Quidditch robes, on the basis that they would at least offer a measure of magical protection.

Fortunately, he realised as he crouched under the tent flaps, there didn't seem to be a dress-code. Cedric had put on his Quidditch robes as well, while Krum was wrapped in what looked like a Muggle boiler suit, covered with a cloak. Fleur was simply in basic sports wear, and looked distinctly uncomfortable about it. Krum nodded at Harry in greeting; the others were silent, although in all fairness, Harry felt this was more to do with mind numbing terror than rudeness. Cedric looked as if he'd met a hungry vampire, he was so pale, and Fleur's mouth was clenched tightly shut. Harry took the remaining seat and closed his eyes, mentally rehearsing the movements he would need to pull the spells off.

"So, we are all ready for this, yes?"

Harry cracked an eye open. Krum was looking around the tent at them, clearly awaiting a response. Harry sat up straighter, opening both his eyes.

"I'm as ready as I can be, I think. Of course, we'll have to see what happens when we get out there, see what we're up against…"

Krum raised an eyebrow at this. "You do not know? Karkaroff told me what the task was last week!"

Fleur nodded in agreement, her eyes widening at Harry's apparent ignorance. However, Harry's eyes flickered, moving over to meet Cedric's. The look lasted only a second, but it was enough.

"Ah, you do know, you just do not wish to say so? I suppose that you think it iz… cheating?" Fleur asked, the closest thing to a civil question Harry had heard from her. Harry and Cedric looked at each other, and nodded, slightly.

"We aren't supposed to know what's going on…" Cedric pointed out, in a low voice, as if scared of being overheard. Fleur snorted scornfully.

"Pah! Cheating iz a part of ze Tournament! It always 'as been, always will be. Why do you English insist on being so…"

"Proper?" Krum suggested, his eyes surprisingly playful. "I think that… 'cheating' is justified here – it is ridiculous to expect us to fight dragons unprepared!"

Despite his respect for Dumbledore and his generally law abiding nature, Harry could see Krum's point. If he'd gone out there unprepared, he knew that he would simply have passed out.

"Anybody know what kind of dragons they are?" Cedric asked, tentatively, as if ashamed to be gathering more illicit information. Krum and Fleur shook their heads, while Harry shrugged.

"Does it matter? They're all big, vicious and fire-spitting. Who cares what breed it is?"

Cedric nodded. "Fair point Potter."

He looked like he was going to say more, but further conversation was halted by the arrival of the three head teachers and the Ministry officials. Harry recognised Barty Crouch, looking as miserable as ever, and Ludo Bagman, the Sports Minister. After a few minutes of tedious introductory waffle, which Harry paid no attention to, Bagman ripped open a large box he was carrying. From it, he took out four robes, tough looking things, made out of dark material.

"Finest duelling robes – these will be your uniforms for the rest of the tournament, and of course, you may keep them as souvenirs afterwards! Now, before the task can begin, you must pick your opponent!"

As the Champions put the robes on, Bagman went round them all with a bag, inviting them to put their hand in. Each of them drew out a miniature model of a dragon, apparently alive, although presumably not to the extent of breathing fire. Bagman didn't seem to notice the lack of astonishment on their faces, too caught up in his own excitement. In a bid to draw their attention, he clapped his hands together.

"Right ho chaps – and chapette, naturally – you now have your opponent. Well, a representation of them, at least. The task is simple. Each dragon is guarding a set of eggs. Amongst them, there is a golden egg – your task is to retrieve the golden egg, without which, your second task will be considerably harder, if not impossible. Points will be deducted should the other eggs incur any damage. Any questions?"

Krum raised his hand. "What about the dragon? Are points deducted if we hurt it?"

Bagman raised his eyebrows. "Mr Krum, if you think you can hurt it, go right ahead. If you can manage that, we'll probably be too scared of you to risk deducting points, ha-ha!"

Nobody else laughed, and Bagman cleared his throat hurriedly. "Well, if that's everything, I'll go and warm up the crowd. Head on out in numerical order when the cannon blasts, alright?"

* * *

The waiting, Harry decided, was the worst part so far.

He knew that the actual task itself would undoubtedly be scary, but at least he'd be doing something, too flooded with adrenaline to really panic. He wouldn't just be sitting there, distantly aware of the screams and cheers of the crowd, and of Bagman's jovial yet strangely intimidating commentary. What, precisely, was so audacious about Cedric's chosen tactic? Why had Krum's tactic not worked perfectly? Were any of them hurt? He assumed that if any of the others had been injured, the task would have been called off, or delayed at the very least – but he couldn't be sure of that. The rules seemed to be crazy enough to forbid stopping the tournament for any particular reason.

And then came the final cannon blast, summoning him into the arena.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, bowing his head and breathing deeply before climbing to his feet. He looked around him, drinking in the last bit of normality he would have for a while. And then he walked through the passageway at the back of the tent.

The noise of the crowd hit him almost as if it were a physical force, and it nearly broke his nerve; he had to stand very still for a long moment, drumming up the nerve to walk forward. Eventually though, he stepped forward, approaching the mouth of the passage with every step, his fingers clamped tightly around his wand. He halted again on the threshold, listening to Bagman's inane introduction, and quickly scanned the arena.

There was no sign of the dragon.

Perhaps they released it after he had made his way in? The crowd was hushed, now, as if they were barely breathing. Perhaps they, too, were as tense as he was? He stepped further forward into the arena, his blood pumping in his ears, a roaring sound.

No. That wasn't his blood…

Every sense in his body screaming at him, Harry looked up. The dragon was perched above the entrance to the passageway, looking down at him with an almost quizzical expression, as if asking him what he was doing there. It wasn't his blood pumping that he could hear, it was the dragon's breathing. Harry locked eyes with the dragon for a long, heartstopping moment. It was strangely peaceful.

Then the dragon spat a fireball at him, and Harry had to move, _fast_.

* * *

"And Potter nearly gets burnt mere seconds into the task! Oh, I'm sure this is going to be a thrilling contest ladies and gentlemen!"

At this, Draco had to control the urge to go over there and curse Bagman. His friend was going to die out there, he could see it. The dragon had to be nearly twenty feet long, with spikes everywhere, and a vicious temper. It was the first of the dragons to attack unprovoked, and if Harry hadn't spent years learning to dodge in various sports, that would have been the end right there. As he watched Harry sprint to the nearest cover, he realised that he was so tense he was forgetting to breathe.

The Tournament didn't seem as much fun anymore.

* * *

Harry dived behind the rock, and crouched there, panting. He could hear the dragon screaming behind him, making his bones rattle with the sheer force of it. It was overwhelming; when they had locked eyes, he had _felt_ the dragon's natural magic washing over him, bathing him in the essence of the dragon. It had been intoxicating, and it had nearly got him killed. He couldn't afford to get that close again. Fortunately, he wouldn't need to. Taking a deep breath, he reinforced the spell he had cast before entering the arena, and peeked out from behind the rock. The dragon was shuffling towards him, chained to a post. It didn't look like it could go much further, but it didn't need to. It could kill him from range, easily. And there was the egg, just waiting to be claimed.

He aimed his wand at it, praying that this would work and he wouldn't have to do anything else.

"_Accio egg!_"

He was disappointed, but not surprised, when the egg utterly failed to move. He could hear members of the crowd jeering his apparent stupidity, but he shut it out, concentrating. The dragon was getting closer, and seemed to be preparing another stream of fire.

So he took the only sensible course, and stepped out into the dragon's eyeline.

The dragon breathed, white hot flame racing towards him.

Harry shut his eyes, and prayed it would work.

* * *

Ginny screamed, but her voice was lost in the hundreds of similar screams, as the flame washed over Harry, obscuring him from view. He hadn't even tried to put up a fight, and now he was dead – utterly dead, the fire would vaporise his body, and he hadn't even put up a fight, and Bagman was gibbering hysterically, and why couldn't everyone just shut up and do something…

Everyone went silent, even Bagman. They were staring incredulously into the arena. Bagman cleared his throat, a little embarrassed.

"Erm… Yes… Well, that was… That was an excellent use of the Flame Freezing Charm there, I must say."

Ginny sank down into her seat, crying joyful tears of relief.

She was going to kill him, for making her go through that.

* * *

Harry grinned rapturously as the dragon's flame conspicuously failed to wipe him from existence. He wasn't even singed! Step one was complete; he could get on with the other aspects of the plan without worrying about being vaporised now. There wasn't much he could do about the spikes on the dragon's tail, or its claws, but he just had to stay out of reach. How quick could it be?

It apparently wasn't hugely intelligent. There was an almost human look of confusion on its face at Harry's survival, and as Harry entered a standard duelling pose, it crouched back, suspicious. Bagman started twittering again, wondering aloud if Harry was going to duel the dragon. _No, I'm not_, he thought to himself. _How stupid do you think I am?_ He just needed the dragon to be stupid enough not to realise that fire wouldn't work on him…

The dragon's throat muscles tensed up, clearly preparing to spit fire again, and Harry grinned, again. Perfect.

As the fire raced towards him again, the heat pressing against him, Harry thrust his wand forward and screamed an incantation:

"_Haurio!_"

The circle of purple light expanded in front of him, flickering in the fire light, and widening as Harry pushed more and more of his magic into it. He could feel it draining him already, but he didn't need to worry, he was about to get a bit of a boost.

The dragonfire hit the circle, tendrils of flame sweeping over the sides and away from Harry, but the majority of it sucked into the sphere. Because, as Titus had explained to him, dragons were creatures of magic. It imbued their very essence, in a way it could never do for a wizard. Faced with an absorption spell such as the one Harry was casting, the fire would react like a spell, and all the magic in it would be sucked out – it would still be white hot, but that could be avoided, as Harry had shown. When the fire met the spell, Harry was given a massive surge of power, absorbed from the flame.

Now he just needed to do something with it.

* * *

Neville gaped as his friend sucked the magic from the flame. It was a staggering sight, one he would remember for the rest of his life. And it was then that a very important fact was driven home to him, a fact that he had always known, but tended to overlook.

Harry was The Boy Who Lived.

He had broken the rules of magic before he could walk. He had fought basilisks, Death Eaters, and trolls. He was, in his own right, a very, very powerful wizard, and he wasn't even fully accessing his power yet.

Watching his friend stand tall opposite the dragon, seemingly unrattled by what should have been a certain death, Neville resolved to always remember this simple fact. He might feel that Harry had a reckless attitude towards duelling, or that he was too driven on learning to fight, too focussed on revenge. But what right, he realised, did he have to comment on this, when he had so little experience of it himself?

Harry was his best friend. But he was no ordinary schoolboy, and Neville had been underestimating him for too long now.

That would have to change.

* * *

The crowd was screaming again, but now they were screaming support. Harry was giving them an epic show, and they were loving every minute of it. And Harry was beginning to enjoy himself as well, for some reason. He should still be nervous, at the least, but he was slowly being filled with a wild excitement. What was happening?

"_It's the dragon's magic. You're absorbing some of it's essence as well – its emotions are infringing on yours, and it's bigger than you. Don't lose yourself Harry! Stay focussed! Harry, listen to me!_"

"Titus?" The thought seemed to come from a long way away, as did Titus's voice. Who was Titus, and why was he speaking into his head?

"_Harry, for Merlin's sake, get rid of the magic! It's wiping you out, get rid of it! Harry, do it now!_"

Harry suddenly became aware of a sharp burning sensation behind his eyeballs. The pain of it poleaxed him, and then he became away of a thousand different painful twitches all over his body. Just as the fire died out, his knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, screaming in agony.

The pain broke through his mental fog, and he realised that the magic was hurting him. It was not wizards magic. This was old, wild – pure. He was not meant to even touch it, and he had absorbed it into his body. How could he have been so foolish?

"_Harry, cast the fucking spell!_"

The spell.

Harry raised his head with an effort. It felt like there was a millstone tied around his neck. The foreign magic was racing inside him now, soaking every nerve cluster and every muscle, electrifying his body. He couldn't take another minute of it, he had to get rid of it. He flung his arm out, aiming his wand at a large rock to his left.

"_Draconisefficieo!_"

A stream of supercharged magic burst from his wand, both his own and every last drop of the magic he had absorbed from the dragon. The spell would have been impossible to pull off without it, possibly even for Dumbledore. But with it, it became merely tricky, and Harry was good at tricky. Under his guidance, the rock started to shift, to flow like water, its shape changing, growing, reforming into something different. It grew, a foot, two, three… It started to bulge in some spots, parts of it rushing out, spreading as if filling a mould. And still the stream of magic sparked between the wand and the rock. It seemed slow, too slow, to Harry, but it couldn't be taking more than a couple of seconds. He could tell; the dragon hadn't moved.

Hours or seconds later, the absorbed magic was spent, and the rock was as finished as Harry could make it. It was a poor attempt. McGonagall would probably give him housepoints for ambition, but ultimately fail him. There was no change in colour, no elegance. But under the circumstances, that did not matter. What did matter was that Harry was now no longer alone in his fight. He had a living, breathing dragon, transformed from the rock, and awaiting his command. He pointed his wand at the Horntail, and uttered a single word.

"_Oppugno_."

His dragon was not a total success. He had rather thought that it would be bigger, and would be able to fly rings around the real one. This was sadly not the case; the transfigured dragon could barely keep ahead of the dragon's flame, and was a few feet shorter than the Horntail – maybe fifteen feet at the most. On the other hand, on the numerous occasions it was hit, nothing much seemed to happen. It seemed that the transfiguration had been just flawed enough – enough of a dragon to fly and flame and live, but still enough rock to be resistant to the fire. It was the best he was going to get.

He pushed himself to his feet, breathing heavily, pain still racking his body. The magic he had absorbed was gone now, but he was very much aware of the after effects still zapping his nerves. He watched as the transfigured dragon slowly but surely drew the Horntail away from the nest, exposing the eggs. He set off towards them at a run, but quickly realised this was a bad idea as his legs gave way beneath him.

"_Don't be an idiot Potter. You don't need to run, it's quite distracted. Take your time, slowly but surely._"

"Back to Potter is it? I thought we were on first name terms."

"_Is this really the time? Stop pissing about and get the egg. You should just be able to grab it while the Horntail's distracted, go on."_

Shaking his head both in bewilderment over Titus's mood swings and in an attempt to stop the spots appearing before his eyes, Harry stumbled over to the nest. Every now and again, he looked over his shoulder, checking on the Horntail's whereabouts. It was as far away as it could be, the chain fully extended, its head raised to the air, shrieking at the transfigured dragon. It was paying no attention to Harry whatsoever. Harry smiled exultantly, and reached out to take the golden egg. He had to push aside the other eggs to get it, and one fell from the nest, thudding lightly to the earth beside the nest. A quick glance suggested it wasn't damaged, and Harry grabbed the golden egg, just as an unearthly shriek shook the earth.

Harry fell to his knees, and looked back to see that the Horntail was focussed solely on him, and it looked very, very angry. Whether it had seen him rummaging through the nest, or had heard the egg fall, Harry wasn't sure. For all he knew, it had some kind of mental link to the egg. Whatever the reason, it was ignoring his transfigured dragon, and was beginning to pace towards him.

Swearing to himself, Harry lashed out with his wand again, re-enforcing the command to attack in his dragon, but as the rock-dragon dived to attack, the Horntail swung its tail. It clipped the rock-dragon, sending it spiralling away, clearly damaged. Harry swore again, and aimed a curse at the Horntail.

"_Caedis!"_

The spell was the only one Harry could think of that might have hurt the Horntail, although he wasn't optimistic. However, the spell didn't even leave his wand; Harry doubled over in pain, his head throbbing. He had barely produced a flash of light, and he could feel his magical core throbbing. He recognised the symptoms of magical exhaustion, and panic began to set in. He was trapped fighting a dragon, and he couldn't use magic. Despite the fact that his attack had failed miserably, the Horntail seemed to realise that he had tried to hurt it. It roared once more, and then it charged at him.

Harry dived to the side, stunned by how fast the enormous creature could move. He rolled as he hit the ground, losing his grip on the golden egg. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the dragon turn to attack again, and scrabbled frantically for the egg. He now had a problem. He could see the gate that he had to get through. The only problem was, he was looking at it through the dragon's legs.

Harry smiled cheerlessly. The only way the dragon was going to move was to attack him. How marvellous.

Then the dragon decided to re-introduce Harry to its main weapon. Once again, Harry was forced to dive aside. He knew he couldn't repeat his trick with the Haurio shield, even if he had been able to cast magic. And now the dragon seemed to be perfectly content to sit where it was, protecting its eggs and breathing fire at him. He was cut off from the exit. The only thing he had going for him was the rock-dragon, and that seemed to be half crippled, even if he could muster the magic to command it, which seemed a little unlikely. However, it was his only choice. He aimed his wand, pushing every last drop of magic into the command, and the rock-dragon soared lethargically through the air towards the Horntail. The dragon paid no attention, clearly dismissive of it as a threat, but Harry hadn't ordered it to attack.

He had ordered it to land. To crash land, specifically.

The rock-dragon slammed into the Horntail at high speed – falling from the sky, literally, like a rock. The Horntail screamed in pain as it was crushed under the mass of rock, and it crumpled to the floor. The transfiguration on the rock-dragon broke, and the throbbing in Harry's head eased slightly; the rock-dragon must have been drawing on his magic to stay in shape. Harry stood, his head spinning, and ran towards the gate, thoughts of victory flooding his mind. He could hear the crowd cheering, and he smiled triumphantly.

Then the Horntail whipped its tail from under the pile of rock, and caught him full on.

He cried out in pain as he felt several bones in his leg crack, and he fell flat on his back, unable to move through the pain. As it dulled, he turned his head, watching as the Horntail struggled under the rock. A piece fell from its back, and Harry pushed himself onto his front, starting to panic. Crawling forward – standing was out of the question, at this point – Harry pulled himself towards the now unobstructed gate as fast as he could. It couldn't have been more than a few yards, but every time he moved brought fresh bursts of agony, and not just from his leg. He was beginning to realise that, impressive though his tactics had been, he might have benefitted from more than a week of training. Or indeed, a totally different plan. He felt totally burnt out, and there were still spots in front of his eyes. His head felt like it would fall apart if he moved it too vigorously, and his nerves were tingling with pain.

As he reached the gate, it burst open, dragon keepers rushing past him to make sure the dragon was ok. He watched them bitterly, feeling that the dragon had definitely come off better in this match, however well he had done. He just had time to look up before Hagrid bundled him into his arms, charging towards the medical tent. Harry didn't even have the energy to tell Hagrid that he was hurting his leg.

He had passed out before he touched the bed.

* * *

Dumbledore stood in the arena, surveying the battle ground. He had been truly astounded by what he had seen; such Transfiguration was incredibly hard to pull off, and it was hardly surprising that Harry had nearly killed himself in the process. Most of the spectators would not realise quite what they had seen today. They had been entertained, spectacularly so, and would not trouble themselves with the deeper meanings.

That was probably a good thing. Harry received far more attention than he needed anyway, without bringing more on himself. The headmaster sighed ruefully to himself. If his suspicions about Harry were right – and his display in the task would suggest they were – then he was going to have a very public life indeed. The least he could do for the boy was to try his best to ensure a peaceful education for him. Sadly, he didn't seem to be doing a terribly good job of that so far.

He bent down, rummaging through the rubble. The arena had not been cleared yet, although the task had been over for hours. It was still scattered with the remnants of Harry's fight with the dragon. As he searched, Dumbledore lowered his mental shields, opening himself, allowing himself to sense the magical levels of what he could see. They were higher, much higher than was normal, even around Hogwarts, but it wasn't until he found the shattered rock-dragon that he had to raise his shields again.

Magic was radiating so powerfully from it that it burned.

Dumbledore weighed the rock in his hands, carefully. The likelihood of anyone else mimicking him was slim, to say the least. There was even less chance that someone would understand it. Nevertheless, it would be prudent to remove the evidence, for now. It could be kept safe, for future perusal, or destroyed in private. No need to have the Ministry get involved…

As he gathered the other fragments, he was disturbed by the thud of a prosthetic leg hitting the earth behind him. Dumbledore stood with a smile and greeted the new arrival.

"Alastor. A moonlight stroll?"

Moody grunted in greeting, his magical eye spinning madly. He looked at the rock that Dumbledore was standing over, and smiled as if something had been confirmed. "Just wanted to get a few things straight in my head Albus. I was wondering about Potter's performance today. Bloody incredible!"

"Yes, and most convenient that he happened to have been taught the necessary shield spell only last week, wouldn't you say?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled knowingly in the moonlight, and Moody smirked.

"Can't fault him for paying attention to his teachers, can you? You should be pleased with him Albus!"

"Oh, I am Alastor, very proud as well. However, I am a little curious… What brings you out here specifically?"

Moody's eye stopped dead, looking straight at Dumbledore. The former Auror's expression was serious. "The boy's clearly powerful, and he's unnaturally good at Transfiguration. I admit, I did my best to plant the idea in his head, but not a fucking dragon! He shouldn't be able to do that this side of a ten year Transfiguration apprenticeship, even with his power, even with the boost he got from the dragon! Could you do something like that?"

Dumbledore bent his head in acknowledgement. "I genuinely do not know Alastor; frankly, I would not care to find out. I know I would not find it easy, certainly."

Moody nodded, satisfied with this. "In our duelling session the other week, he Transfigured the platform into water. He shouldn't be able to do that. It's impossible, Albus."

"Alastor, Harry was doing the impossible before he could talk."

"Yeah, but not consciously. There's something special about him, isn't there? It's not just power."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, before he nodded, sighing. "Yes, there is. More special than you know, if I'm right – and I'm rarely wrong, if I may be so arrogant."

"What is it? What's the secret?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow in admonishment. "Alastor! What possible reason could there be for my telling you before Harry himself knows the truth? It has no immediate effect on his life, and I'm not even sure if I'm right."

"I could help him if I knew the truth – "

"No, Alastor," Dumbledore spoke quietly, but firmly, making it clear that the conversation was over. He made sure he had all the pieces of the rock-dragon, and started to walk away. "Harry has had so much taken from him Alastor, don't you think he deserves to hear his big secret first?"

Moody watched Dumbledore walk away, his expression guarded. "I hope you know what you're doing old man," he called after him. "If you screw this up, then Potter might be more of a danger than an asset. I don't want to be the one clearing it up, not after seeing what he can do!"

Dumbledore stopped, but didn't turn back. "Alastor, if Harry should ever become a danger, then there are plenty of others who will do the job, I assure you. Far too many, in fact. Let him be blissfully ignorant a while longer."


	15. Concerns

**Chapter 12: Concerns**

Three hours after Hagrid had left Harry in the Medical tent, Madame Pomfrey walked away from Harry's side, wiping her hands clean. Remus and Peter sat up as she approached, twin looks of concern on their faces. She smiled slightly at them, nodding her head.

"Don't worry, he'll be fine… Eventually. He used a lot of magic today, put a lot of strain on his magical core. He's not going to be doing any magic for at least a week, or he might permanently harm himself. Make sure he understands that, he can be stubborn when he wants to."

Remus nodded fervently. His heart had been in his mouth throughout the battle, and he had been sure he was going to watch Harry die. If that had been the First Task, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what the second might bring.

"What about his other injuries?" Peter asked softly, as if he didn't really want to hear the answer. Madame Pomfrey looked grim.

"He shattered his leg bones – they'll grow back quickly enough, I've got him on Skele-Gro, but it'll hurt. There's some nerve damage as well, nobody should absorb that much foreign magic. Still, that can be sorted with a few potions and rest. He'll be fine, but he needs to be a little more careful in future. Enough people try to kill him without him doing it himself."

Peter's smile was utterly humourless, but he nodded gratefully at the Mediwitch as she walked away. He looked over at his unconscious ward; Harry's leg was twitching as the Skele-Gro worked on him, and his skin was pale. He hadn't looked so close to death since he had been attacked in the Forbidden Forest in his first year. The sight made him clench his fists, holding back his anger. Beside him, Remus sighed, standing and walking over to Harry's side.

"Where the hell did he learn how to do that, Remus? I know it's not something he's learnt in class; they'd have more sense!"

Remus shrugged. "I don't know Peter. You know what he's like, he could easily have found it in a book."

"They didn't have those kind of books in the library when I was a student."

"Not in the regular part of the library," Remus pointed out. "He's got the cloak, he could easily get into the Restricted Section."

Peter nodded, watching Harry's breathing carefully. Remus reached out and brushed his godson's fringe out of his face, revealing the scar on his forehead. The sight of it made Peter scowl. Remus glanced at him understandingly. It was a permanent sign of the danger Harry was in, and how much he had already been through.

"How much more of this is he going to have to put up with? We need to find the bastard who put him up for this Remus, Merlin only knows what the second task will be like. Maybe if we know what was done, we can find a way to get him out of it before it's too late."

"I hope so. But don't be too worried Pete; he might have got a little carried away, but he still did brilliantly. A strained magical core and a broken leg seem like a good result for a lone, underage wizard against a dragon. Let's face it, aside from Dementors and Voldemort, dragons are the most dangerous thing he's ever likely to encounter in his life. We know he can handle Dementors, and they're unlikely to have Voldemort even in the tournament final…"

A grin flashed across Peter's face at the image, and he had to admit, Remus was right.

"True, I'll give you that. Nevertheless, we need to find them, if only so I can demonstrate my displeasure in person."

Remus looked over at him, his eyes narrowed. "I appreciate the sentiment Peter, but Harry needs family now, not his own personal assassin. Don't go off on a rampage."

"But I'm so good at it," Peter responded with a cold grin. Remus glared at him, and he held up his hands in mock surrender. They both knew he wasn't going anyway anytime soon – but they also both knew that if Peter did find the person responsible for putting his godson in front of a dragon, the results would be messy. Remus was not a violent man by nature, but even he had expressed the desire to make someone pay for it, a sensibility hitherto expressed solely about Sirius.

Of course, there was a good chance that Sirius _was _responsible, at least indirectly, which would be convenient.

Remus sighed wearily, and flopped down into a chair, still watching Harry. Peter looked over at him curiously.

"What's wrong?"

"You do realise he'll probably have to be strapped to that bed to stop him doing magic?"

"… Damn."

* * *

Harry opened his eyes, and was momentarily confused to find himself back in his bedroom at Privet Drive. The confusion swiftly changed to annoyance, as he remembered that this was the layout of his mental landscape, before immediately shifting to panic. The last time he had found himself here unannounced, Titus had taken control of his body, in a bid to combat Sirius. Had something similar happened? No… he had been fighting the dragon. He winced in memory. Had Titus come out to fight the dragon? God only knew what he might have done, in front of the _entire school_.

Still, there wasn't a lot he could do about it here. He climbed out of the bed, and wandered out of his room, still turning over what could have happened in his mind. Despite his presumably unconscious state, he felt weary, wasted, almost. He rubbed his head, going over the minutes before he had blacked out. He had used a lot of magic. Could that be it? As he made his way downstairs, he glanced into the open living room.

With a start, he whirled to face into it, drawing his wand with a snap. There was an unfamiliar young man lounging on the sofa. He looked slightly older than Harry, with wilder, lighter hair – more brown than black. His eyes were a startling blue, and he wasn't wearing glasses. Other than that, he looked very much like Harry. He looked up from the book he was leafing through, and spotted Harry. His eyes focussed on the drawn wand, and he flashed Harry a smug, rather cocky grin.

"Really think it'll do you much good Harry? Besides, you don't want to curse me – I'm Titus."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, but did not sheath his wand.

"You look different than I'd thought you might."

Titus raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And precisely how did you think I'd look?"

"I… I honestly don't know," Harry admitted. He'd long had conflicting views of the voice in his head; part arrogant young man, part bratty teenager. The person in front of him was clearly still a teenager, but thus far, he didn't seem to be much of a brat.

"Well, I hope you're impressed with what you got. I think I look pretty good myself." Titus struck a pose, smirking at Harry. Harry shrugged.

"Yeah, you do look a lot like me, don't you?"

Titus looked back at him with a wry grin. "Ooh, well done! That was almost witty! Although I can't help but notice that you've still got your wand out…" he pointed out.

"Well, yes. Let's not forget that, because of the advice you gave me, I've ended up unconscious and with God knows what other injuries! You nearly got me killed!"

Titus shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by Harry's anger. "I wanted to see whether you could pull it off. You did. Congratulations and all that."

Harry stared at him, speechless. "You… You wanted to see if I could do it? That was your reasoning? That's insane!"

"What's more insane, my advice, or following such a clearly risky plan without question? You need to learn not to be so trusting Harry," Titus admonished him, in light, almost jocular tones. Harry clenched his fingers tighter around his wand, and Titus smirked at him.

"Answer me honestly; did you know that it would cause this much damage?"

"No. Honestly, I didn't know what it would do to you. Do try to remember, I've only got certain bits of information that you haven't. The precise effects were a little beyond my sphere. Sorry."

He didn't sound terribly sincere – more amused than anything else. Harry glared at him, itching to hex him. "You're going to get me killed one of these days."

"Oh boo-hoo. Grow up Harry, take some responsibility for your actions! You know that it's harder to transfigure inanimate objects to living ones; surely you're bright enough to work out that it's even harder to transfigure something that drastically? I gave you an idea – you're the one who chose to act on it. And you're not even close to being dead, I was listening while that Pomfrey woman checked you over."

"You can listen while I'm unconscious?"

"I've taken control of your body and engaged in a duel against three Death Eaters; eavesdropping is a doddle, believe me. Anyway, you're on a bit of Skele-Gro for your leg, there'll be a few potions for your nerves once your legs healed, and you aren't allowed to use magic for a week. Alternatively, you could have been burnt to a cinder. Say thank you."

Harry remained silent, unwilling to thank Titus, despite the fact that he had several good points. If he was right, then he had been very lucky – and it was true, he could have investigated his own methods of completing the task. Instead, he looked around the room. There was no longer such a close resemblance to Privet Drive; the basic layout was the same, but there were subtle differences. Different pictures on the walls, new books on the shelves. Titus followed his gaze.

"Like what I've done with the place? I set up home in your cousin's bedroom, hope you don't mind."

Harry shrugged. "I guess not. Try not to cause too much of a mess, obviously."

"Oh, obviously. I mean, he's going to want it in perfect condition when he gets back…"

"Do you ever stop being sarcastic?"

"Possibly when I'm asleep. You should let me know sometime."

Harry closed his eyes in exasperation. "You know, I really hope I don't have to spend too much time in here with you."

Titus affected a wounded expression. "Harry, I'm hurt. I thought we were friends!"

"Oh for God's sake…" Harry turned his back on Titus, walking back out into the hall. He headed towards the understairs cupboard, and pulled open the door. Inside, the flickering wall of light that represented his magical core seemed… changed, somehow. He studied it, trying to work out what was different."

"The block on it is getting smaller. More of your magic is getting through – which is fortunate, because without that, you really _would_ have got burnt alive out there." Titus was now leaning against the wall, his arms folded and his eyes on Harry. He didn't seem to want to come any closer. As Harry met his eyes, he elaborated. "My headache gets worse the closer I am to it. I try and avoid it when I can."

"You get a headache from my magic? Is that normal?"

Titus didn't respond, merely staring at Harry, and Harry cursed himself silently. There was nothing normal about this in the slightest, headache or no headache. He reached out his hand, placing his palm on the wall of light, which was still peppered with large chunks of darkness. However, whereas the first time he had seen this, it had been almost entirely darkness with small spots of light, he guessed that now roughly three quarters of it was light. It was warm to the touch, and he felt it flood through his body, making his skin tingle.

"Don't play with it too much. Pomfrey was saying you strained your core, and using it this week could damage it permanently. I don't know if touching it will affect it, but better safe than sorry."

Harry withdrew his hand sorrowfully. "Any idea how long I'm going to be here?"

"Nope, sorry. Just make yourself at home. Mi casa su casa as it were."

Harry rolled his eyes and wandered back into the lounge, taking a seat. It seemed all he could do was wait.

* * *

When Harry next awoke, he was not in Privet Drive, but a tent. He couldn't immediately decide whether this was an improvement or not. On the plus side, there was no Titus getting on his nerves. On the down side, it was far less comfortable. He sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily. His leg was tingling, not quite painful, but irritating. He still felt horribly drained and weak. He could make out some blurry shapes in front of him, and he fumbled to his side, trying to find his glasses. Some considerate person had left them in easy reach, and the blurry shapes turned into his friends when he could see again. They all seemed to be asleep.

"Hey guys…" His voice was weak, his throat sore, but they woke up. Ginny shrieked, and leapt at him for a hug so fast that he could have sworn it was Apparation. The breath was knocked out of him as she wrapped herself around him, and he flailed his arms, trying to attract her attention.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again, Harry James Potter!" She was muffled, due to speaking into his neck, but he could still discern concerned anger in her voice. Still unable to form a vocal response, he tapped her on the back, and she looked up at him questioningly. Realising she was crushing him, she darted back, squeaking in worry. Harry massaged his neck, but managed to grin at her.

"Do what?"

"Something so insanely dangerous! You could have got yourself killed!"

"True, but surely the important thing is that I didn't?"

Ginny glowered at him. He rolled his eyes playfully, admitting defeat. "All right, all right. I'll be more careful next time, I promise."

"Oh, I don't know, I thought it was very impressive myself," Neville spoke up from the end of the bed. Harry looked over at him, gratified. His use of magic had been a source of tension between them for a while, so hearing Neville's approval put a smile on his face. "Of course," his friend continued, "That was before you went and nearly damaged your magical core…"

Harry flushed. "Yeah yeah… You've got to admit though, impressive."

"Merlin yes! That was bloody amazing magic Harry, and when you got them attacking each other… That was the coolest thing I've ever seen!" Ron's enthusiasm was infectious, and when Draco began to offer his own analysis, Harry found himself actually looking back at the last day or so almost fondly. Hermione's expression was less happy though. Indeed, she looked really rather annoyed.

"Aren't any of you going to ask how he is?"

Ron stopped, mid sentence. The infamous Weasley flush spread across his face, and he and Draco stopped their hero worship. Ginny just lightly shoved Hermione.

"He's clearly ok, just a little spaced out. You can tell, he's more coherent."

"Oi! I resent that!" Harry's protests were drowned out by the sniggers from his friends, and he shook his head in exasperation. "I risk life and limb for your entertainment, and what do I get in return? Insults. I suppose I wasn't expecting a party or anything, but you know, a bit of respect might have been nice."

"Be fair mate, you do get this shiny egg – isn't that something to be pleased about?" Ron handed over the golden egg that Harry had gone to so much trouble to retrieve. "Hermione's already had a look at it, she can't find anything interesting about it."

"I was just curious, and all you lot could talk about was how 'cool' it was – I mean honestly, you could at least have talked about the technical ability Harry showed, but no, that would have been _intelligent_, and – "

As the argument continued, Harry sank back in his bed, watching the scene unfold. It was good to be back.

* * *

Sirius opened the main door of the mansion, his mind going over what he had seen. Dumbledore's extra wards had been laughably easy to overcome with a little tuition from his Lord, and he had been watching the whole time, concealed amidst the stands as a large black dog. Harry's performance had been – well, it had been incredible. He had had no idea his godson was that powerful or talented, even taking into account the _thing_ that had taken control of him in June. Had something similar happened with the dragon?

He hurried through the corridors swiftly; various sycophantic Knights were huddled around, eagerly anticipating even just the sound of their Lord clearing his throat with a sickening servitude. Thank Merlin he didn't have to deal with them very often. Screams from the basement suggested that Rosier was preparing the Dark Lord's evening meal. Sirius hoped that his news wouldn't spoil his appetite.

The door to his Master's chambers swung open as he approached. Clearly, the Dark Lord was becoming more accustomed to his new body. His senses and control were nearly as good as they had been before his downfall. Sirius approached, his head bowed, and knelt at the Dark Lord's side. Voldemort was once again to be found watching the fire intently, as if he could read the secrets of the universe in its flames.

"Well, my servant? What news of the Tournament? How did Potter cope with his task?"

"It must be said, my Lord, that he coped rather well. He chose not to attack the dragon directly, but to distract it with a transfiguration."

"I cannot imagine what he must have transfigured that could be of more interest or danger to a dragon than a wizard…"

Sirius was unable to conceal a shiver of nervousness. He had a feeling that his Lord was not going to like this. "He transfigured a rock into – well, into another dragon, my Lord."

The Dark Lord slowly turned his head from the fire, fixing his unblinking eyes on Sirius. The nature of his face meant that he was not a terribly expressive person, but surprise was evident. "A dragon. Black, are you seriously telling me that a fourteen year old boy transfigured a rock into a dragon?"

"Yes, my Lord. I couldn't get close enough to examine his full tactics, but that was certainly the main focus of his methods. It should be noted, my Lord, that it was not a terribly successful transfiguration."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed dangerously, a sign that Sirius had said something stupid. "Black, was the dragon recognisably alive? Could it fly? Breathe fire?"

"Well – yes, my Lord. It was, and it could."

"Then we must consider it a successful transfiguration, and an impressive one. What condition was he in afterwards?"

"He had to be carried from the arena, my Lord. I waited several hours, but he did not leave the medical tent while I was there. I don't know the extent of his injuries, but they must have been fairly extensive, given the time he's been shut up in there."

The Dark Lord sat in silence, considering what he had heard. If Sirius hadn't known better, he might have said that the Dark Lord seemed a little scared. But that was plainly impossible. After a few moments, the Dark Lord looked up.

"I rather think we may have to initiate plan C, as well. Fetch me that idiot Darrow. I have a use for him, at last…"


	16. Titus and Dumbledore

**Chapter 13: Titus and Dumbledore**

As it turned out, Harry's guardians did not have to tie him to the bed to prevent him using magic, which was a relief to all of them. However, Madame Pomfrey refused to let him leave for several days, which meant that he was fully recovered, but had contracted a severe case of cabin fever. On the other hand, the weeks after the first task had been the most enjoyable of the year for Harry.

He had swiftly gathered that, while he might have suffered the worst injuries of any of the champions, he had easily been the most impressive. Fleur had done something involving singing, sending the dragon into a doze. She had been well on the way to a good score, until the dragon had collapsed on the eggs. Cedric had gone along similar lines to Harry, although his transfiguration had been a little more conservative. Krum had apparently tried to answer the question he had posed to Bagman prior to the task; his Conjuctivitus curse had not exactly harmed the dragon, but was easily the most aggressive stance any of the champions had taken. It was also less than subtle, but then Harry supposed that Krum's Quidditch technique was hardly the most strategic. As a result, Cedric was in the lead, barely, with Harry and Fleur tied for second. Krum was behind by a single point.

The day after the task, there had been a meeting of the champions and the Triwizard committee, necessarily held by Harry's bed. Contact had been brief, but irritating; all four champions had been outraged to find that the egg they had been retrieving was little more than a souvenir of the task – "A memento to show your grandchildren in years to come," as Bagman had put it. As Fleur had pointed out, the scars were souvenir enough, but Bagman had seemed curiously unable to understand their point of view.

That irritation aside, Harry was satisfied with the outcome of the task. Overnight, he had gone from being a bit of an outcast to one of the most popular students in the school. It was astonishing how many friends he never knew he had. He recognised those hoping for reflected glory for what they were, but it was nice not to be jeered at in the corridors. The 'Potter Stinks' badges were now far less common a sight, which was pleasing.

As October turned to November though, Harry was beginning to have more serious things to worry about. And they mainly concerned Titus. True, the strange person in his head had given him a lot of help, on several occasions. True, he might not be alive to worry about it were it not for Titus. However, it was also true that Titus apparently hadn't seemed to care what might happen to Harry during the Task, and, in all honesty, he had been crazy not to talk to someone about the fact that he had a voice in his head. And that was before he had 'met' Titus while unconscious. Titus looked a lot like him – but the same could be said for the shade of the sixteen year old Tom Riddle that had come from the diary…

* * *

It took Harry a while to pluck up the courage, but three weeks after the first task, he was to be found making his way up the winding stairs to Dumbledore's office. He hesitated outside the door, distracted by the sounds of voices. He couldn't make out who it was or what they were saying, and he stood there, dithering over whether to knock. It could be a staff meeting, it could just as easily be a political meeting. He didn't want to interrupt, but the cramped stairwell was not exactly built for waiting. Fortunately, he didn't have to make up his mind – the door opened in his face. It was Cornelius Fudge, and, embarrassingly, Harry still had his arm raised to knock on the door. For a moment, it looked as if Harry was preparing to tap the Minister for Magic on his not inconspicuous chest. Fudge stared down at him, confused, and then his expression cleared.

"Ah, Harry! Good to see you m'boy, how are you?"

"Erm, hello Minister… I'm fine, thank you. Erm, yourself?"

"Fine Harry, just fine. You're quite the centre of attention these days, wonderful show against the dragon. Just the kind of thing we want to be seeing from our students, eh Dumbledore?"

Harry peeked round the Minister's bulk. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, watching the conversation with an expression of detached amusement. His eyes twinkled, and he winked at Harry.

"Absolutely Cornelius. I'm sure that his teachers would describe Harry as a credit to the school. In some areas, at least…"

Harry grinned, although the irony seemed to be lost on Fudge. Harry was, of course, one of the biggest rule breakers in the school, although it was generally in the service of a good cause.

"Capital, capital… We shall have to see about transferring some of that talent to the Ministry, in due time of course."

Harry's mind went blank. Was he being head-hunted for a job? Sweet Merlin… After a moment's pause, he plastered a rictus smile on his face. "Oh, I'm sure that would be wonderful Minister."

Fudge's eyes narrowed, but he gave a hearty chuckle, that Harry suspected wasn't entirely sincere. "Well, must be off. Things to do and all that! Dumbledore, Harry." And with that, he wandered down the stairs, humming to himself. Harry walked into the office, still dazed at Fudge's brazenness. He took a seat opposite Dumbledore.

"I think he could tell I wasn't being that sincere sir…"

"Astonishing though this may seem, Harry, Fudge isn't quite as stupid as he appears to be."

"That's not saying much though, is it?"

"Now now Harry, we must always treat our governors with the respect that their position commands…"

"I was, sir."

Dumbledore smiled, gently. "Well, perhaps a little more tact in expressing it might be in order. Whatever his faults, he is Minister, and rather a powerful man. Now, what can I do for you?"

Harry took a deep breath. This was going to be fun…

* * *

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "So, to summarise: for the last year or so, you have had a strange voice in your head, recently named Titus, who has taken to educating you on certain areas of magic, and who seems to have a larger knowledge of darker magic than might reasonably be expected for the average adolescent nagging voice, and who has shown an ability to take control over your body in times of stress. Correct?"

"Broadly sir, yes." Looking at the facts like that, it seemed far worse than he had ever considered it previously, and Harry couldn't help but wince to himself. But Dumbledore still looked calm, as if the whole thing was nothing to worry about.

"A curious issue, to be sure Harry. I must admit, I am a little puzzled about why you have come to me with this?"

"Well – you're the greatest wizard in the world. If you don't have any answers, no one else is likely to, are they?"

"Harry, you're going to make me blush. I don't know if I'd call myself the greatest wizard in the world, but thank you very much! As for answers – well, I'll see what I can do, but why not go to Remus, or Peter? They would surely be of more… emotional benefit than me?"

Harry bowed his head, trying to put it into words. "I know that this – whatever it is, it isn't normal, is it? There's so much weird stuff around me; I survived the killing curse, I can talk to snakes, and now I've got someone living in my head… I guess I'm just worried that this would be the final straw, you know? That they might start to think I'm a freak."

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke gently, soothingly. "Remus and Peter would never – "

"I know they wouldn't. Rationally. But it's just playing in the back of my mind, for days now. I don't know, I've never really worried about it before, not so much. At first he was just a voice, I thought he was just a dream, or something. And then when I knew he was more than that, I wanted the stuff he could offer, so I didn't seriously think about what he might be. But now… Since he – awoke, I guess – I've been getting darker. Going after Quirrell, wanting to fight Sirius, obsessing over duelling… killing someone. I'm starting to wonder how much of that is to do with him."

Dumbledore stared intently at Harry for a long moment, his blue eyes looking straight into Harry. Harry met his gaze in silence, waiting for the elderly wizard's response. Eventually, Dumbledore's lips twitched in a smile.

"If you will permit me to offer my opinion Harry, your pursuit of Quirrell was more to do with your laudable sense of responsibility and justice than anything else. Your 'obsession' with duelling, as you put it, seems nothing more than a healthy desire to make sure that you can protect yourself against the very real dangers you may face. I would also say that you spend far less time practising duelling technique than students who do it merely for prestige on the duelling circuit, so don't worry yourself on that score. As for Sirius – well, he betrayed you, betrayed your parents, tried to kill Remus, took actions that resulted in the death of a classmate, and caused Miss Weasley to be possessed. I would consider you unnaturally pure if you had haboured no desire to hurt him after that. The man you killed… That was tragic, clearly, but hardly the act of a budding dark lord. He was, I believe, torturing your cousin at the time? And if I may, I do not believe that you meant to kill him, hmm?"

Harry sat in silence. No, he had not meant to kill the Knight – not consciously, at least. And everything else – to know that Albus Dumbledore thought his actions justifiable was a major relief, to say the least. He relaxed in his chair, and Dumbledore beamed at him.

"Well, that's that cleared up. Now, to business. Before we examine this Harry, you must bear in mind that I have no easy answers for you; in all honesty, I have never heard of anything like this happening before, not as you describe it. However, I will do my utmost to satisfy your worries. So, first of all – what do _you_ think that Titus is?"

Harry paused, considering the question. "I don't really know sir. But… when I 'saw' him after the first task, there was the same kind of similarity that there was between me and Tom Riddle. So… he might be something similar to the diary? I don't know what it was like for Ginny to be possessed, really. She's never wanted to speak about it, and, well… Not the kind of thing you talk about over dinner."

"No indeed. Well, I have my theories about the nature of the diary Harry. I have long thought that there was perhaps more to it than we saw, and if my theory is correct, then we have a whole host of new problems to deal with – but that is an issue for another time. As to whether Titus could be of the same nature as the diary, well…" Dumbledore paused, gathering his thoughts. "To the best of my knowledge, you cannot make something like the diary by accident. It would have to be done with proper observation of the rites and rituals. While it is perfectly possible to do something like the diary to a living being, I do not believe Voldemort would have done it to you, Harry. Whatever Titus is, I think he is very different to the diary."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The thought that he might have had a shard of Voldemort's memories or something inside his head, talking to him, advising him – becoming, in a strange way, his _friend_… It would have been disgusting, abhorrent.

"Further enquiry would be greatly aided were I able to meet him…?" Dumbledore trailed off, suggestively, leaving Harry to make the connection. It was a frightening one.

"Sir, I'm not really sure I want him taking control, to be perfectly honest. He might be dangerous, even if he isn't anything to do with Voldemort."

"I rather think I can handle myself Harry," Dumbledore responded, drily. "I assure you, nothing bad will happen."

Harry paused, and then scowled. "He says you'll have to knock me out. He's been listening, apparently."

"I see." Dumbledore looked Harry straight in the eye, and Harry steeled himself. "Do I have your permission then, Harry?"

_No!_ Harry wanted to scream. He was sick of being knocked out, and that was just by his enemies! But he wanted the truth, he really did, and the only times Titus had taken control, Harry had been unconscious. He nodded. Dumbledore smiled comfortingly, and the next thing Harry knew, a red light had hit him between the eyes.

* * *

Dumbledore watched, carefully, as Harry sank to the floor. In the corner of the office, Fawkes squawked indignantly, but Dumbledore ignored him. He was watching Harry. For a moment, nothing seemed to be happening. Then his eyes snapped open. They were no longer vibrant green, but blood red, and, despite his reassurances to Harry, Dumbledore was chillingly reminded of a young Lord Voldemort.

Titus – for it had to be him – climbed slowly to his feet, his eyes never leaving Dumbledore's. He sat back down, leaning back and placing his feet up on the desk. Dumbledore cleared his throat and looked pointedly at them, but Titus ignored him.

"I've got to admit old man, that was bloody quick. I'm impressed. Any other party tricks to dazzle me with?"

"You must be Titus. Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Very observant of you. And thanks, but I've seen bits of this castle you've never been close to, so let's just get on with shall we? You wanted to talk to me, I believe."

"I'm beginning to think I may not be able to," Dumbledore commented lightly. Titus sneered at him.

"Well, if you don't think you can keep up with my intellect…"

"I'm sure I'll cope," Dumbledore responded with a smile. Titus just sat back, his arms folded. There was a moment of silence.

"What are your intentions towards Harry?" The question came abruptly, but it did not startle Titus into talking. He merely rolled his eyes.

"What do you think?"

"If I knew, I would not be asking. Do you mean him harm?"

"I thought I was nothing to do with Voldemort?"

"You can still be harmful to him."

"For Merlin's sake… I live in his head, if he comes to any serious harm, I do too. I'm rather keen on living – such as it is – and I have no desire to cut even this half life short. No, I don't intend harm to come to him. I've gone out of my way on several occasions to ensure it doesn't, as a matter of fact."

"Yes, he said…" Dumbledore studied the person in front of him. Aside from the eyes, there was no obvious physical difference, but Titus carried himself very differently. Harry always looked confident; Titus looked like he knew he was better than you, in any respect you cared to name. Very arrogant. "What is your first memory?"

"The Forbidden Forest. I was fighting." Titus grinned. "It was fun."

"Harry's first year… And then?"

"Nothing much. It was a while, I think. About a year. Someone was trying to possess Harry, he was down in the Chamber. I got rid of him, and you know what? Harry never thanked me, little git."

"Most remiss of him. And what was different? Anything?"

Titus leaned back, considering. The whole thing was tedious in the extreme, but better to play nice than attract even more suspicion. He could understand Harry's concerns, even if he planned to bitch viciously at him for not trusting him. What _had_ been different between his 'outings'? "I think I was smarter – the first time, I just woke up and acted instinctively, there wasn't any plan, anything like that. I just woke up and started throwing around spells. The second time, I didn't take control, but I knew more about what was going on, what I was doing. I guess you could say I'd grown a brain."

"And since then? Have you changed much since then?" Dumbledore's mind was whirring, already compiling a theory. Titus shrugged in response to the question.

"I'm a little more active than I was, but I'm no smarter, no stronger. All that's really changed is that Harry doesn't need to be asleep or unconscious for me to communicate with him. I think that's because I'm not as tied to his magical core as I was."

"His core? You were tied to that? How?" The pieces were beginning to fall into place, in Dumbledore's opinion.

"I've no idea," Titus shrugged again, a picture of nonchalance. "But I was, it's why I've been able to tap into his magic even when I haven't been in control of his body. Useful, I can tell you. He'd have been sucked dry by those Dementors at the match if I hadn't showed a little initiative, I can tell you."

But Dumbledore was not listening, busy scribbling notes on a piece of parchment. Little facts were written, linked up, underlined, as his considerable intellect worked towards an initial conclusion. He was confident he could explain how Titus had appeared, but his current nature still needed a few more details. Titus trailed off, realising the headmaster wasn't listening to his self-praise, and he scowled a little, vaguely annoyed.

"Was there anything else?" he enquired, in peevish tones. Dumbledore looked up absently. He seemed surprised to see that Titus was still there.

"Oh, no, I think that's all for the moment, thank you. You can send Harry back now."

Titus lowered his legs from the desk, but otherwise stayed still, waiting. Dumbledore looked blank for a moment, and then realisation struck.

"Ah yes, of course. I do apologise, I was miles away. _Stupefy!_

* * *

"Welcome back, Harry."

Harry opened his eyes blearily, a little dazed. His last memory was shocking; Dumbledore had no business moving that quickly, a man of his age! He pushed himself to his feet, and sat back down, rubbing his shoulder, which he had apparently smacked into the floor.

"Did you meet him? What did you think?"

"I did indeed Harry, a most intriguing individual. A little full of himself, and not the politest person, but intriguing, definitely."

Harry grinned, all the more so because he could hear Titus responding in his head. He was not pleased at this description. Personally, Harry felt it rather accurate.

"Now, you came here for answers Harry, and I believe I can offer them to you. For a start, I feel confident in stating that Titus is nothing like the diary. However, there is the issue of the piece of magic that bound itself to your core, all those years ago. Yes, that is a more fruitful line of enquiry, I believe." Dumbledore leaned back, steepling his fingers and frowning in concentration. "Remind me Harry. Titus claims that the first time he appeared was the night you were attacked in the Forest, yes?"

"That's right sir. He took over to attack Sirius on my behalf."

"Generous of him indeed. Now, shortly before this, you had been… blessed, shall we say, by a unicorn?"

Harry nodded again, unsure of where this was going.

"Hmm… Now, there is clearly a difference between this first manifestation and subsequent ones. Well, as far as we know, anyway. Sirius is our only eye witness, but from my examination of the battle ground, I would say that Titus was far more savage at first than he is at present. What do you know about unicorns, Harry?"

Harry blinked, confused by the sudden tangent. "Erm, well, they're regarded as the lightest magical creature ever, next to the phoenix. They're used to test virginity, or were anyway, their tail hair is amazingly strong, their blood is very magical… They're often associated with healing. That's about it, I think."

"They were originally associated with _life_, not healing, Harry. Over the centuries, the two interpretations were conflated, but they were originally seen as a representation of the pure magical spirit of the planet. A very old myth, but not necessarily inaccurate. I do not think it a coincidence that this Titus came to life after a dose of unicorn magic."

"I – I don't really understand sir," Harry admitted, slightly embarrassed. Dumbledore settled back in his seat to explain.

"You may or may not be aware of this Harry, but your magic takes on certain aspects of your character. In a sense, your magic is merely a particular facet of your personality. That is why I talk about the 'dark' magic bound to your core. You are a sensible person, you know, as I do, that there is no such thing as dark magic, despite what the ministry would have you believe. However, since the magic was of Voldemort, unquestionably a dark wizard, it can be labelled dark without too much quibbling.

Now, if your core had been pure, then the magic the unicorn flooded your body with would have had little effect, as far as I am aware. It would have made you feel peaceful, joyful – it probably did do this. However, since you had foreign magic in you, tainted with darkness… I believe the two may have reacted. The magic of life meeting the dark magic results in Titus – savage and violent, because of the basic nature of the magic that he was formed from, but alive, because of the unicorn's magic. How he came to mature to the reasoned, intelligent person he is today… well, this brings me to something Professor Moody mentioned to me. He said that you had told him that pieces of the Mirror of Erised had embedded themselves in you, and I must confess, I was unaware of this."

"Oh? I thought Madame Pomfrey would have mentioned it. She pulled them out of me. Well, I assume she did. They weren't there when I woke up, certainly."

"There was nothing mentioned Harry. And there would not have been any glass to extract; the Mirror was not made by traditional means, but was essentially a solidified Memory charm, of a type. Do you perhaps understand yet?"

Harry shook his head, still bemused. Dumbledore nodded happily. He seemed to be in his element, and for a moment Harry wished that he had never given up full time teaching.

"Well, a piece of the Mirror – as I say, essentially a solidified form of a branch of mental magic – lodged itself in your head, for a brief moment. We already know that you have absorbed magic before. Is it too much of a leap of faith to say that you absorbed that magic as well? It would certainly explain your unusual resistance to Occlumency. And from there, we can make another deduction. Magic of life, from the unicorn. Magic of the mind, from the mirror. After you were blessed by the unicorn, Titus came to life, the magic wrapped around your core altered by the stronger, purer magic that was gifted to you. When the Mirror exploded, it gave Titus intelligence. Then, by your own actions to 'release' him, and by the natural degradation of the block on your magical core – which is, at base, what Titus is – he was able to become more independent. Titus is the magic on your core, given life and intellect by two remarkable circumstances. As such, I believe him to be completely unique. I'm sure that will please him, mightily."

Harry sat back, dazed by the stream of information. The intricacies of it were beyond him, bright as he was, but the basic idea made sense. He was a little dazzled that Dumbledore had managed to deduce all of this from a single meeting, and said as much. Dumbledore smiled graciously at him.

"Once you know the facts, it was obvious enough. And I am rather brilliant, though I say it myself. It has been a delight to have an actual challenge to work with, I've been too busy with mundane political problems for the last few years. You have my thanks, Harry."

"Anytime sir," Harry responded with a slight smile. "So Titus… In a way, he is connected to Voldemort? I mean, he's grown out of his magic, right?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded his agreement, "But not in the same way the diary was – for which you should be most thankful."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Oh, I think he's very dangerous Harry – but not to you. Sentient magic, and magic more attuned towards offensive magic than anything else? It's no wonder he put up such a fight against Sirius and Rosier! You can learn a lot from him, I'm sure. Just be careful how you use it…"

"I always am sir. Thank you, thank you so much." Harry couldn't quite articulate how grateful he was, but Dumbledore seemed to understand.

"It's quite alright. However, I would recommend telling Peter and Remus about this. I assure you, they won't think less of you for it."

Harry hesitated, then nodded acquiescence.

"Goodbye Harry, and good luck for the rest of the Tournament. I feel sure that you will do well, somehow."

* * *

Harry spent most of the journey back to the common room ignoring Titus. He was rather annoyed that Harry didn't trust him – or was claiming to be, at least – and was vocalising this annoyance at great length. Harry could feel that he wasn't really angry though, and so concentrated on other things. He had to admit, Dumbledore's analysis was a huge relief. Now he could throw himself back into his extra-curricular studies with appropriate vim and vigour.

Such cheering thoughts were dashed from his head by the look on Ron's face, when he eventually reunited with them. His friend looked like he was about to faint. Harry hurried over to him, noting that the others seemed to find Ron's condition amusing, rather than worrying.

"Ron, what's wrong? Are you ok?"

Ron turned to face Harry, his eyes wide. "There's going to be a Yule Ball on Christmas Eve. We've got to wear dress robes. Harry, we've got to get ourselves _dates_!"

Harry blinked, and then sank into the seat next to Ron. Next to him, Ginny giggled.

"Oh crap."


	17. Merry Christmas Harry

**Chapter 14: Merry Christmas Harry…**

"So, let me get this straight… You've got the disembodied voice, of what may be a sentient piece of Voldemort's magic, stuck in your head, and it's talking to you?"

Remus's voice rose throughout his questions, and Harry flinched. At least the conversation was going according to his expectations. In the corner of the room, Peter was looking as expressive as Harry had ever seen him, an expression of blank shock. Remus whirled away, prowling the classroom, his frustration practically streaming off him. Harry watched him warily, wondering what his guardian was going to say next. Eventually, Remus turned back. His eyes were narrowed.

"Why didn't you tell us? We could have helped you Harry, we're your guardians."

Harry hung his head. "I didn't really think it was a problem at first; I mean, I thought they were dreams, and then he was… I dunno, helpful, I guess. And then when I started to think of him as a problem, I was worried. I thought you might think that – that I was a freak, or something."

"Oh Harry, how could you think that? It's us! We'd never think that!"

It had to be said, Remus sounded more angry than freaked out; Harry wasn't sure which he would have preferred. His guardian really looked like he was about to lose his temper.

"Didn't you think we might turn on you for being a werewolf?" Peter's calm voice cut Remus off before he could explode, a blessing for which Harry was grateful in the extreme. Remus looked over at Peter, a surprised look on his face. Peter was looking a little embarrassed, as if referring to an awkward issue. "I'm just saying, I can see where Harry's coming from – despite the fact that he was wrong, obviously."

Remus opened and shut his mouth, trying to form an argument. Harry took advantage of his distraction to throw in some groundwork. "I knew you wouldn't be mad or anything, you know, rationally, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. I didn't want you turning against me, you're too important to me!"

Peter and Remus both turned to him, eyebrows raised sardonically. Harry sighed. "Too far?"

"Yep. We can recognise emotional manipulation when we see it." Peter informed him with a wry smile. Remus snorted with laughter.

"Recognise it? We were Marauders, we turned it into an art form! And Harry, the key to it is to be realistic. You're not that sentimental."

"Yeah, I guess. Sorry." Harry waited with baited breath, hoping the situation might have diffused a bit. Remus shook his head in wonderment.

"This is insane… everything seems to happen to you, doesn't it Harry?"

"A little bit, yeah. It's not like I try, trouble just seems to follow me, y'know?"

"Like father like son," Peter muttered fondly. Remus shook his head again, Perhaps understandably, he seemed to be having difficulty coming to terms with what had happened. He looked up at Harry again, his eyes desperate.

"Isn't there anything we can do?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, Dumbledore seemed to think that he's basically just the magic that's blocking my own core, so I guess it's possible that once that breaks down completely, he might disappear. But then, it's changed a little since then, so, you never know…"

"So you're stuck with it?" Remus did not sound happy, and Harry felt a twinge of disappointment. This was what he had been scared of.

"It looks that way, yeah. Sorry."

Remus frowned in confusion, then sighed. "Harry, I'm not mad at you, and I don't think you're a freak, or anything like that. I'm just worried about you. I mean, you've got to admit, this is not the best thing that's ever happened to you, is it?"

"Remus is right Harry. We're your guardians – we're family. We love you, no matter what."

Harry and Remus both looked over at Peter, stunned by his pronouncement. The second Marauder was even less openly sentimental than Harry. One look at his face though, and the tension instantly disappeared; Harry had never seen someone look so embarrassed, although he knew the sentiment was genuine. The awkward smile, the hunched shoulders – Peter looked like a teenager asking someone out for the first time, and Harry and Remus were unable to control their sniggers. Peter ignored them, feigning aloofness, but his lips were twitching. Harry eventually regained control of himself, and went over to give Peter a hug.

"I know you do Peter, I really do. I just worry sometimes."

Peter ruffled Harry's hair, and he ducked away, scowling. He had always hated people doing that, despite knowing that it didn't make it any messier – if anything, his hair was probably tidier now.

"Well, you're a teenager. You worry about everything, endlessly. I remember doing that…"

"Oh, you think you had it bad? Try dealing with teenage problems and being a werewolf, that's a barrel of laughs, I assure you." Remus grumbled good-naturedly. Peter nodded, and then turned to Harry with a wicked grin.

"Speaking of teenage problems… Found a date yet?"

"Oh, is that the time? Got to go, see you!" Harry fled before the questions could get anymore embarrassing, his guardians laughter following him down the hall. As the door swung shut behind him, Remus turned back to Peter, the smile disappearing from his face.

"Peter, what are we going to do? We can't just let this carry on! Merlin only knows what could happen to him."

"I don't know Moony. This is a little beyond my area of expertise. Hell, even Dumbledore couldn't think of a way to get rid of him, if Harry's right." Peter sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes hard, as if trying to force his brain to work. Remus knew how he felt, but he was actually more worried about something else.

"Why didn't he tell us, Peter? Why didn't he…" Remus hung his head, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Why didn't he trust us?"

Peter sighed. "Remus, it's been what, five, six months since he found out about Sirius? He loved Sirius, and then he was betrayed, in quite spectacular fashion. Don't forget, whatever else Harry might be, he's still a fourteen year old boy. Trust issues don't seem that much of a surprise to me, even if they're subconscious. It's nothing personal, so don't get too offended. You'll just make it worse."

"I suppose. It still stings though."

Peter shrugged. "I know, but we're just going to have to deal with it. Harry's got his own problems, all joking aside."

* * *

Harry had a problem. In fairness, it was one being shared by Ron and Neville, although Draco didn't really seem to be affected. The girls of Hogwarts all seemed to move in packs; it was a little eerie. The ones they knew well felt a little off limits as Yule Ball dates, it would just have been a little creepy going on a date with a close friend. Those they didn't know well – well there, the problem was obvious. What were you supposed to talk about? That was assuming you managed to get them away from their giggling friends for long enough to actually ask them out.

Draco hadn't been so concerned with conversation. He had already secured a date with a girl from Durmstrang, a blue eyed brunette with, as Draco put it, a "fantastic arse". Harry was looking for something a little more stimulating than that. The problem was made worse by the fact that he would be opening the dancing, as a Champion. Ron and Neville could survive without finding a date; he would look a real pillock doing the waltz by himself. Fred and George had told him they could get him the number of a 'reputable' escort service; the thought made him faintly nauseous.

It was weird though. He had actually been asked out several times – just by girls he didn't recognise at all, not even vaguely. It was clear that as a dragon fighting Champion, he wouldn't be short of offers. That made him extremely nauseous. This had rather annoyed Titus.

"_For God's sake Harry, it's just a dance. Ask out some girl who looks good in a dress and can move her feet reasonably competently, get yourself a decent snog and have some fun. You're not looking for a life partner!"_

"Yeah, but I'd like to be able to talk to her, you know? We'd just be sitting in silence all night, and that would be horrible."

"_What do you want conversation for?"_

As Titus didn't seem able to grasp the subtle intricacies of dating, Harry thought it best to ignore any advice he might give. Ron and Neville weren't much more help, although for different reasons. Neville just clammed up, while Ron could talk about little else, although always in tones of panic.

"I mean, the only girls we know are friends – wouldn't you feel really awkward with one of them?" He asked Harry as they made their way up to Divination.

Harry nodded fervently in agreement. "I know! The only girls I know really well are Hermione and Ginny!" They both shuddered at the thought.

"_Yeah, but you think she's pretty, don't you?"_

Harry jumped in shock. Titus usually stayed quiet when others were around. Fortunately, Ron didn't seem to notice. "What do you mean, I think she's pretty?"

"_Well, pretty much what I said, genius. You think Ginny's a good looking girl."_

"She's my best friend's sister, I've known her for years!"

"_And? What's your point?"_

"It would be weird and gross?"

"_Right. I see. Harry, you're an idiot."_

Once again, Harry resolved to ignore this deeply disturbing advice. Titus clearly didn't know what he was talking about. He had thought about asking Cho Chang, on the basis that was pretty and good at Quidditch, but she was going with Cedric. As they arrived at Divination, Padma and Parvati Patil looked round and them, immediately hiding their faces and giggling. Harry looked at Ron with a raised eyebrow. Ron seemed to have the same idea, and nodded. They were the first to arrive, so there were just the four of them. Taking a deep breath, Harry approached the two sisters.

"Afternoon ladies…"

"_Oh, _smooth _Potter, smooth…_"

* * *

Harry leafed through the Potions textbook with little interest. Securing a date with Parvati had cheered him up, and was weirdly fascinating. He had found himself picturing the ball almost fondly, which had the added benefit of shutting up Titus for a while; he apparently found the whole idea a little ridiculous. As he tried to focus on the essay he was supposed to be writing, someone sat down in front of him. It was Viktor Krum.

"Harry! It is good to see you again, I haven't had a chance to speak since the task; you were impressive, I have not seen anyone do magic like that ever. You are talented, yes?"

"Hi Viktor, good to see you too. Er, thanks. I try my best, you know. I hear you did a good job yourself."

Viktor shrugged. "I am last though, a shame. I can still fight back though!"

"Yeah, I'm sure… So, erm, what can I do for you?" Harry lowered his voice and leaned towards the Bulgarian. "Have you heard something about the next task?"

Viktor chuckled. "Are you so sure I would tell you if I had, hmm?"

Harry paused, considering. "Yes, actually. I think you would."

"Ah, Harry, you are very trusting. I like that! Anyway, no, I haven't heard anything. I have other things on my mind anyway, which is why I come to you. Your friend, Hermione, yes?"

"Hermione? What about her?" Harry asked in confusion. Krum and Hermione had never even met, as far as he knew.

"She is single? Or does she have a boyfriend?"

"Why… why do you want to know?"

"For the Ball, obviously." Krum spoke slowly, as if to a child, and Harry restrained his annoyance. "I would like to invite her, and I thought I would make sure she is single before embarrassing myself."

"Right… She's fourteen, you do know that, right?"

"Yes. So?"

"And you're what, eighteen? Nineteen?"

"Eighteen and a half, yes. Why?" Krum's face was a picture of incomprehension, oblivious as to why this might be an issue. Harry stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head.

"Oh, no reason." Hermione knew her own mind, after all. It wasn't his business. "Yeah, she's single. I didn't know you knew each other?"

"Ah, we do not, but I see her in the library. She is pretty, and clearly clever. I like this combination, so I would like to dance with her."

"Fair enough…" It all seemed a little weird to Harry, but who was he to comment. Krum got up to leave, a satisfied smile on his face. Harry watched, faintly uneasy. He had heard stories about Quidditch stars, and not all of them were good… "Krum, hang on a minute." The other Champion bent down again, smiling at Harry quizzically. Harry returned it with a small grin. "You know you said I was talented? Well, if you hurt her, I'll show you just how talented I can be, ok?" Krum blinked in shock, and Harry smiled cheerily at him. "Good luck!"

* * *

An hour later, Neville arrived, looking glum. He collapsed into the chair Krum had vacated, resting his head on his hands. Harry looked up at him in concern. This wasn't like his friend.

"What's up Nev?"

"Krum asked Hermione out. She said yes."

"Ah, yes. He said he was going to."

Neville looked up at him sharply, looking strangely angry. "You knew he was going to ask her?"

"Well, for the last hour or so, yes. It's not like I've been keeping it a big secret. Why's it so important, anyway?"

"Harry, _I _was going to ask her to the Ball!"

There was a moment of silence. Harry sighed. "I'm really sorry, I didn't know."

"Yeah… Wasn't really something I felt comfortable talking about, under the circumstances."

"Well yeah, I can understand that. Does she know?"

Neville shrugged. "She doesn't _know_, but it's Hermione. There's a fair chance that she suspects something."

Harry grinned at that. "True enough. Do you – " he hesitated, aware the question would be sensitive. "Do you think she'd have said yes, if you had asked her?"

Neville shrugged again, not meeting Harry's eyes. "I dunno. If she said yes to Krum, then I guess she wasn't exactly waiting with baited breath for me to ask her out…"

It was a fair point. Harry didn't really know what to say. "I'm sorry," he said, again. It felt pointless, but apologising had never got him hurt before. Neville smiled at him ruefully.

"It's hardly your fault, like you said, you didn't know. I'm just a bit bummed out. I mean, seeing the girl you're just about to ask out getting really excited about the date she's going on, it kind of spoils your day a little."

"I can imagine, yeah."

"I still can't believe you and Ron got two of the most attractive girls in the year though, how on earth did you manage that?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. It wasn't really something he wanted to talk about, considering it was one of the most embarrassing memories of his life, but Neville clearly wanted to change the subject. "We just asked. By which I mean we blushed, stammered, spluttered, and generally made idiots of ourselves. Merlin knows why they said yes, but I've never been able to understand girls."

"Hear hear!" Neville agreed fervently. "What I wouldn't give for a spell that could let you understand women…"

"Come on Nev, we're wizards, not miracle workers…"

* * *

The fortnight leading up to the ball was largely taken up with training. Harry was used to this of course, but he had never done training like this. He'd assumed, given his years of fencing and duelling training, that the waltz wouldn't be too much of a problem. It was difficult to describe how wrong he had been. There were classes, but dancing with Professor McGonagall was simply too painfully embarrassing. Once again, he had found himself relying on the help of Remus; his guardian was surprisingly nimble on his feet. By Christmas Eve, Harry was not going to dazzle the partygoers, but he wouldn't make a fool of himself. Probably. If he was lucky.

At least his dress robes were nice. Ron was seriously considering going naked, a prospect that made Harry long for a second encounter with a troll. Neville had managed to find himself a date; Susan Bones, of Hufflepuff. Harry hadn't welcomed this news with open arms, given the rumours she had spread about him during their second year, but she had apologised, at least, and tried to be friendly on the rare occasions they had close contact. And he had to admit, she was kind of cute. Hermione was going with Krum, and really seemed to be delighted by the prospect. He had been a little curious about this, given her general apathy to Quidditch and all facets of it, but as she had explained, it was nice to be appreciated in her capacity as a girl, for a change. And Krum was nice enough, in his slightly odd way. Bizarrely, she was looking forward to wearing a dress and dancing the night away. Seeing her being girly was a little scary, Harry and Ron had quietly agreed. Obviously, it was a topic Neville preferred not to consider, although he had been gratifyingly positive about Hermione's date in public, whatever he thought privately.

On Christmas Eve though, Harry was feeling terrified, once again facing the prospect of being a performing monkey for others entertainment. Sadly, this terror was apparently visible for all to see, judging by the twins greeting as he left the common room.

"Aw, you look gorgeous! Don't worry, we'll"

"Be taking pictures! We're thinking of selling them,"

"Two galleons a picture! Sound a good deal to you?"

Their laughter followed him out of the portrait door and down the stairs, a portent of his impending death by embarrassment. Waiting outside the Great Hall for Parvati, he was witness to a crowd of Slytherins heading out of the dungeons. Draco waved at him, chattering away happily about something to his date, who did not look enthralled. The only other familiar faces were, unfortunately, Blaise Zabini, apparently on his own for the evening, and Theodore Nott, who dispiritingly did have a date, a girl Harry recognised as Eloise Midgeon. That made him frown. What was Nott doing with her? Nott himself sneered as he went into the Hall; Blaise, his partner in crime, was evidently too glum to muster much in the way of animosity, choosing to ignore him instead. Harry was profoundly disappointed and hurt by the slight. Draco stopped to introduce him to his date.

"Harry, this is Anastasia. She's from Durmstrang, and a dab hand at Potions."

Harry smiled in greeting, receiving a shy smile in return. She brushed her fringe away from her face and muttered "Hi", quietly. There was a moment's awkward silence, and then Draco grinned at Harry, almost maliciously.

"Can't wait to see you trip the light fantastic with Patil, Harry. Should be quite the show…"

Harry scowled. "Thank you for your support. You're a real friend, you know that? You could at least have given me a few tips, you're trained for this sort of thing."

"Is it my fault you've had a deficient upbringing?" Draco shrugged. For a split second, Harry pondered the pros and cons of jinxing him for that remark, but decided it probably wasn't worth it. He had a question, anyway.

"Was that Eloise Midgeon I saw with Nott?"

Draco curled his lip in disdain. "Yes, that's right. She never shuts up! And she's got so many spots, it's obscene Harry, it really is…"

"Yes, I'm sure," Harry hastily interrupted. "But isn't she a Muggleborn?"

"Yes, I think so. What of it?"

"Well, why's Nott dating her?"

"God knows. Because he fancies her, I assume. You know, the usual reasons?" Clearly, Draco didn't quite see where Harry was going with the conversation.

"She's Muggleborn, he's a classic bigoted Pureblood…" Harry explained patiently. Draco nodded in understanding.

"I see, yes. Well, I can see why you might think that, but he isn't, actually. He doesn't have a problem with Muggleborns, or at least, he's a bloody good liar about it."

"I thought his family supported Voldem – sorry."

"I wish you wouldn't say that… His family might have done, I don't know if he would have."

"Well if he doesn't, what's his problem with me? I assumed that was why he hated me, because of what happened."

"No, I think he just doesn't like you. Is it really that important at the moment? Believe me, you're not missing out on much. He might not be bigoted, but he's a prick."

Harry shrugged. In all honesty, it didn't matter. He didn't really care whether Nott liked him or not, or why he felt that way. It had just piqued his interest. Further conversation was halted by the arrival of Parvati, who, in all honesty, was looking breathtaking. While Harry tried to reconnect his brain, Draco and Anastasia took their leave. Smiling widely at him, Parvati took his hand as the other Champions gathered round the entrance. Hermione was looking surprisingly good as well, and Harry grinned at her, receiving an excited wave in return.

A moment later, and the doors to the Hall swung open, and the entrance was filled with the sound of the live band. The Champions and their dates processed in, and Harry was sure the strength of his blush was enough to melt the charmed snow all around the Hall. They took their positions on the dance floor, the other students crowding behind them, hemming them in. There was no escape. Parvati placed her hand on his waist, beaming at him. On the stage, the conductor struck up the band.

"One, two, a-one two three, _hit it!_"

* * *

Harry slept late the next morning. The Ball had been great fun; he had danced well enough not to be laughed at, he had had fun with Parvati – although he felt it unlikely it would turn into a relationship – and the music had been good. A thoroughly enjoyable evening.

Christmas Day was never going to match up to it.

When he finally made his way down to the common room, lugging his presents down with him, his friends were sitting round the table. For some reason, they looked shocked. Harry frowned at them. "What's up with you guys? It's Christmas! Presents!"

His friends looked at each other, awkwardly, then slid something across the table to him. Dropping his presents on the sofa, Harry picked it up. It was the _Daily Prophet_, which drew another frown from him.

"I didn't think they published at Christmas."

"They don't, normally…" Neville responded.

Harry unfolded the paper, and his eyes went wide as saucers as he read the headline.

_**Daily Prophet Special Edition:**_

_**Boy-Who-Lived Accused of Murder – exclusive!**_

Harry looked up at his friends, his mouth agape.

"What the fuck?"

Ron gave him an uncertain smile. "Merry Christmas mate…"


	18. Murder?

**Chapter 15: Murder?**

_**Boy-Who-Lived Accused of Murder - exclusive!**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_In a shocking interview conducted last night at their family estate, the noble Darrow family sensationally accused Harry James Potter, the famous Boy-Who-Lived, of murdering their youngest son, Edmund Darrow. The accusation was relayed through Edmund's brother, Jedgar, the heir to the family name and title, and the sole surviving child of the family. Jedgar claims that Potter killed Edmund in the chaos at the Quidditch World Cup, during the attack by the Knights of the Dark Lord – a movement, which, it was revealed, Edmund was a part of._

_Jedgar made no apologies for his brother's recreational activities, dismissing them as 'mere adolescent foolishness', although many readers will doubtless feel strongly about the matter. However, this reporter would argue that, whatever Edmund Darrow's leisure activities, the fact that Harry Potter was able to get away with killing him, and for this death to not even have been mentioned to the press, is a far more serious issue. We are, of course, accustomed to celebrities being treated far more leniently by the justice system than us mere mortals; I take this opportunity to remind readers that Ludo Bagman, Minister for Sport, stood trial for passing information to the Death Eaters during the war. Despite overwhelming evidence, he was released without sentence, due to his popularity on the Quidditch pitch. _

_However, it is a massive leap from passing information to, quite literally, getting away with murder. _

_How, precisely, did Potter manage this? Some may argue leniency due to his age, but this would set a dangerous precedent. Are we really willing to let children – for make no mistake, Potter __**is**__ a child, no matter his fame and prowess – run riot, without fear of legal response? Some may argue that, as a Knight of the Dark Lord, Edmund Darrow deserved to die – but that is a matter for the courts to decide; nobody, especially a fourteen year old, should have the power of judge, jury, and executioner. Some may suggest self-defence as a viable argument. Other possibilities are worse, however._

_No-one really knows how Potter survived the attack that killed his parents – an attack by You-Know-Who, who had never failed to kill an opponent before. The greatest wizards of the age have pondered this question ever since, and none have reached a conclusion. One controversial theory, rarely discussed in polite society, is that Potter has unnatural Dark abilities – abilities that would explain many things about Potter._

_Consider the facts. He survived an unblockable Killing Curse. His years at Hogwarts have been dogged by dark deeds; trolls have broken in, there was a series of attacks by the so called 'Heir of Slytherin' – widely rumoured to be Potter himself, by many of the student body - and Death Eaters have attacked the school on two separate occasions, and one of these attacks was led by Potter's godfather, Sirius Black. Potter has been mixed up in many of these incidents, and come away unscathed. More evidence of Dark powers at work? This reporter thinks so. Clearly, he had ample opportunity to pick up tips from his crazed godfather, and many senior Ministry members have privately admitted to concerns about the boy's power, which recently saw him transfigure a rock into a dragon as part of the Triwizard Tournament. It is plain to see that Potter is unnaturally powerful for his age._

_Is the murder of Edmund Darrow a sign of things to come? Is Harry Potter, famed for his triumph over the Dark Lord, going through his own journey to Darkness? This needs to be considered, and urgently. It is this reporter's opinion that Potter should be withdrawn from Hogwarts immediately, and subjected to rigorous questioning by the authorities, for the safety of his fellow students._

_**Interview in full on page 3**_

Harry had never thought of himself as a particularly violent person, but by the end of the article, he was feeling the distinct urge to do something brutal. How dare she? He flung the paper down, and strode out of the common room. He heard Hermione calling after him, but he ignored her, his mind clouded with disgust. He could feel his magic swelling around him, reflecting his foul mood, and he knew that he needed to find somewhere to release it, as soon as possible. Preferably, somewhere where he wouldn't have to deal with people. He could see it already; the rumours, the whispers, the suspicious looks in the halls… Again. Why did people keep trying to ruin his life?

He made his way to the Astronomy Tower. Nobody was going to be out there in this weather, or this early, and nobody would be nearby to investigate. He had difficulty getting the door to the roof open; the wind was so strong that it was pushing the door closed as he pushed it open. Eventually, it gave, and he trudged out onto the snow covered roof, wrapping his robes around him to insulate against the driving wind. He hurriedly cast a warming charm over himself, sighing in relief as the cold left him.

The wind whipping his hair around his face, he focussed his magic through his wand, visualising what he wanted. Muttering the incantation under his breath, sparks of magical energy flashed from the tip of his wand, and a misty shape began to coalesce on the ground in front of him. Once the spell had started to take form, it was easier to continue, and within seconds, the shape had grown, filled out, taking a recognisable form. Once the conjuration was finished, Harry took a step back, conscious that the follow up step would be spreading over a wide area. Aiming his wand, his eyes narrowed in anger, he barked out a spell.

"_Caedis!"_

The mannequin of Rita Skeeter was cut in two along her waist, the two pieces toppling to the floor with a clatter. Harry had to admit, it made him feel better; his magic was calmer, as creating an almost lifelike shape totally from scratch required a considerable amount of energy. And seeing the likeness of the woman who refused to leave him alone, broken on the floor, gave him a guilty little thrill of satisfaction, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips.

"Impressive, but I wouldn't let the press get wind of that. Not now."

Harry turned round wearily at the familiar sound of Remus's voice, greeting him with a jaunty wave. "Hey Remus. Merry Christmas. Seen the paper? It makes for riveting reading, I assure you."

"Yes, I've seen. How are you?"

"How do you think I am? I'm being accused of murder, she's dragging up painful memories to spread gossip, she's all but suggesting that I am, in fact, secretly Voldemort's apprentice… I'm just wonderful Remus. All the day needs to make it perfect is for the Aurors to turn up and arrest me in front of the entire school." As he spoke, a thought struck him, and he looked up, suddenly panic stricken. "That – that's not going to happen, is it?"

Remus chuckled. "No Harry, it isn't. They know full well what happened, it'll never go any more official than this."

"Well, that's something I guess." With another wave of his wand, and a muttered spell, Harry conjured two chairs for them. Remus raised an eyebrow, and sat down, casting his own warming charm.

"We could, you know, go indoors? Where it's warm?"

"In a minute. Let's face it, I'm unlikely to get much more opportunity to enjoy the snow at this point, am I?"

"Fair point. Impressive conjuration, by the way. I didn't realise you were getting so good at it." He tapped the chair thoughtfully. "You could probably sell these. They're excellent quality."

Harry shrugged. "Thanks. Practice makes perfect, you know." In truth, he hadn't been practicing. He simply seemed to find it easier and easier whenever he did try it. In his trunk, he had hidden away a glass bauble. He had conjured it the night after the start of term, and he periodically examined it, to see how much it was deteriorating. So far, any such deterioration was negligible, if there had been any. He couldn't tell.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the snow drift in the wind. At last, Harry broke the silence.

"Why's this happening Remus? What's the point to it?"

"Why do you assume that there is a point to it, beyond what it says in the paper? Leaving aside the utter rubbish Skeeter's spouting about you, what they're claiming is, at least, half-true. You did kill someone – and yes, I have checked that it was Darrow. There's no way it could ever be considered murder, but they're perfectly at liberty to try and accuse you of it."

Harry scowled at this. "Maybe so, but you know perfectly well that it isn't as simple as that. It never is, with me."

Remus bowed his head, saddened at the bitter cynicism in his ward's voice. Harry was in grave danger of being forced into an early adulthood, losing his innocence far too soon. But what else could they do? They tried to protect him, and something always managed to work its way past their guard. Maybe he needed better guards.

"I don't know what they're trying to achieve Harry, but yes, there's undoubtedly something. I just can't see how it would work. The Aurors investigated what had happened at the time, the records are all there, and even the most cursory look at them will show that you killed him by accident at worst, in self-defence at best – or at least, the defence of others, which is essentially the same thing. It's going to create a bit of a stir for a few days, then the Darrows will be made to look like fools."

"I look forward to that immensely, believe me."

"I'm sure. Now, you might have the youthful vigour to withstand the cold, but I'm old and freezing. Can we go in? There's going to be a crisis meeting shortly."

"Yay. Merry Christmas to me," Harry said sourly. Remus leant over, placing his arm around his ward's shoulders and pulling him close. Harry sighed wearily, relaxing into the hug for a moment. Quickly though, he was standing up, banishing the chairs and fragments of mannequin with a vanishing charm. Remus followed him back indoors, grateful for the warmth.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Harry, Remus and Peter were gathered in Dumbledore's office for a plan of campaign. Moody had joined them, looking even gruffer than usual. In an unusual show of solidarity, he had clapped Harry on the back sympathetically. Harry had been touched. Dumbledore had spent the morning at the Ministry, trying to ascertain what was going to be done.

"The Ministry's position is that the matter was investigated at the time, and they did not consider it worthy of public debate; they argue that you killed Darrow while defending your cousin, by accident – and they will back you to the hilt, Harry. To do otherwise would not look good for them; they would appear to have covered the matter up because of who you are. Rest assured, this will be over and done with in a matter of weeks. The Darrows' have no legal grounding to do anything."

"That's comforting." Harry's response sounded sarcastic, and he knew it, but he genuinely meant it. He had punished himself enough for the death, and it had been a genuine accident. He knew, technically, that his only crime was carelessness. He also knew that wouldn't necessarily count for anything in a court of public opinion. Remus clapped him on the shoulder cheerfully.

"You see Harry? I told you everything would be alright! This'll all be forgotten by Easter, mark my words."

Harry smiled at his guardian's words, but Peter looked less convinced. "Albus, do we have any idea why they would do this? What can they hope to achieve? We know they can't do anything to him legally, so what's the point? A distraction? Keep us occupied with this while they do something else?"

Dumbledore hesitated, darting a quick glance at Harry as if evaluating whether he should hear this discussion. Harry met his gaze levelly, trying to show that he could cope. With a sigh, Dumbledore explained.

"They've already achieved their aims, I believe – at least, they've done all they need to. This isn't about anything other than public relations, Peter."

The two Marauders frowned, not comprehending Dumbledore's meaning. Moody stepped forward, taking over the explanation. "We know that Potter killed this Darrow lad in self defence, or near as makes no difference. And, intellectually, the public will probably accept that, once it's been explained to them. But inside, they'll be thinking to themselves, "Either Potter set out to kill someone, or he was stupidly careless and killed someone by accident." Neither conclusion is going to inspire confidence. Like it or not Potter, if Voldemort starts up again, as he likely will do, people will look to you for leadership. They just took a pre-emptive strike at your public persona. People want you to be the innocent little boy who defeated a Dark Lord simply by existing, not a soldier. And they don't want to think of you as fallible. At the same time, by suggesting the Ministry covered it up, they damage the Ministry's reputation. Anything else they can get out of it is just a bonus."

Peter let out an almost admiring whistle. "Credit where it's due, that's pretty clever. He's picked up a few tricks since the war."

"I suspect the details came from Sirius, Wormtail. He always was a dab hand at manipulation, don't forget," Remus pointed out with an angry scowl. Peter conceded the point.

"So what do I do?" Harry asked. Dumbledore looked at him apologetically.

"I'm afraid there isn't much you can do, Harry. The best thing for you at the moment is just to continue as normally as possible – I realise that won't be easy, but do your best. You have the Tournament to worry about, don't forget. In addition, do everything you can to avoid any conflicts for the time being. Don't, for instance, have an argument with Theodore Nott. That could easily be spun into the press coverage."

"I'll do my best sir, don't worry."

"Excellent. Now, for the moment, I suggest you return to your friends and try and enjoy your Christmas. I'll have the house-elves send up some food to the common room, if you'd like. Christmas lunch under the circumstances may be a little…"

"Fraught?"

"Precisely. Merry Christmas Harry."

Harry didn't respond as he left, feeling distinctly short of feelings of goodwill to his fellow man.

* * *

Harry had been due to catch the Hogwarts Express back to spend Christmas with his family, but under the circumstances, that seemed unwise. He couldn't face the hordes of students whispering and pointing at him behind his back. Not yet. Dumbledore arranged a Floo connection directly to the Dursleys, and Harry, Peter and Remus went directly home. Uncle Vernon was furious, bellowing about legal action, and other, largely pointless measures. Aunt Petunia said little, simply hugging Harry tightly the moment he appeared from the Floo. He had hugged her back, grateful to be somewhere completely safe.

On Boxing Day, the Ministry's response had been published on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, coming out in defence of Harry, which was pleasing.

_**Potter 'not at fault', claims Ministry**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_The Ministry for Magic today issued its response to the Darrow family's claim that their youngest son, Edmund Darrow, was murdered by the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. Potter, already infamous in certain select circles, has not deigned to issue a response, an unexpectedly cowardly stance for a boy regularly praised for his bravery. In the statement released today, the Ministry claims that the attack, which took place at the Quidditch World Cup, was perfectly justifiable, arguing, predictably, that Potter 'acted to protect his Muggle cousin, who was being tortured by Mr Darrow at the time.' The Darrow family has yet to issue a response to this claim._

_Going further, on why the information was not released to the press, the Ministry spokesman, a Mr Campbell, said that there had been 'no need' to issue a statement, that the matter was 'no different to someone defending themselves against a mugger'. He also criticised this paper for breaking the story, informing us that Mr Potter 'was very distressed to find out he was being accused of murder via his morning paper'. I for one feel that Mr Potter needs to grow up and face the consequences of his actions._

_**Continued on page 3.**_

On reading this, Harry had been unable to control himself, and there had been a mild panic at the breakfast table as the paper burst into flame. Nobody had blamed him though; they were all feeling much the same.

Following this announcement though, the story seemed to dry up. Harry heard nothing for the rest of the holiday, although he was sure it hadn't gone away. There was no way he could have been that lucky. All anyone would tell him was that it was 'being dealt with', presumably behind the scenes. Merlin only knew what was being done to ensure that the story didn't get out of hand.

All too soon, it was time to head back to Hogwarts. Predictably enough, the Express was packed with students, all of whom immediately stopped talking to watch him pass as he made his way through the train. It was grimly amusing, in a way. He had to wonder how this could possibly be topped. He had bumped into Parvati on the platform; she had shied away from him, as if ashamed to be seen with him. Well, he hadn't seen it being a long term relationship, but he'd thought better of her than that. About the only person who seemed to be genuinely enjoying the situation was Theodore Nott, who broke off his conversation with Eloise Midgeon to flash Harry an extremely vindictive grin.

He really wanted to know what he had done to piss Nott off so much.

There was a conspicuous hush around his group at the start of term feast. Harry and his friends talked amongst themselves, pointedly ignoring the unsubtle looks. They left the feast early, and were immediately conscious of a flurry of whispers flooding the Hall. Ron wanted to go back and express his displeasure, but Hermione talked him out of it. Harry was grateful; such a reaction would only make the gossip worse.

It was a miserable start to the term.

* * *

At the end of the first week of term, Harry was called away from his homework – now being conducted in the privacy of the common room – to a meeting of the Champions. The four of them congregated in the entrance hall, waiting for Bagman to arrive. To Harry's surprise, Krum hailed him cheerily.

"Ah, Harry! It is good to see you! You are a proper celebrity now, yes?"

Harry frowned in confusion. What the hell was Krum talking about? Seeing his confusion, the Bulgarian elaborated.

"The press, they make up ridiculous stories about you now. So, you are a proper celebrity now. Congratulations!"

Harry was unable to stifle his grin at Krum's dry sarcasm, but while it may have cheered him up, he felt he should at least be honest with them.

"Thanks, but it's not wholly inaccurate. I did kill him."

Krum's grin vanished, and Cedric turned to him, open-mouthed with astonishment. Harry stood there, trying to project a calm visage, although internally he was terrified. This was the first time he had talked about the story with someone who didn't already know the truth, and he needed it to go well. He had sworn that he would not be dishonest; he had nothing to be ashamed of.

"What do you mean, you killed 'im?" Fleur asked, taking a cautious step back. Harry mentally deducted marks from her for tact.

"Like it said in the paper, he tried to torture my cousin, and I stopped him. I didn't actually mean to kill him, but it happened. I won't deny that."

"So, it was definitely an accident?" Cedric spoke slowly, wanting to be perfectly clear. Harry nodded. There was a moment of silence, which was interrupted by Krum's bark of laughter.

"Ha! I am not so sure you are a soft target for the tournament now, eh? We will have to be careful with you, I can see that."

Harry was about to respond, a little indignantly, when Bagman arrived. He fell silent, but couldn't help feeling a little annoyed with Krum. In his view, it wasn't really something to laugh about. He continued to brood as Bagman led them out of the castle. Five minutes later, he was gaping in astonishment at the grounds around the lake. Before the holiday, they had been snow covered, but otherwise bare – simple grassy banks, beautiful for doing homework on in the summer. Now though, the beginnings of what looked like a maze were sprouting from the ground. Bagman waved proudly at it.

"Beautiful, isn't it? I take it you can all work out what it is, hmm?"

"It's a maze," Cedric answered, somewhat redundantly in Harry's opinion. It seemed to satisfy Bagman though, who beamed at Diggory as if he were a dog who had just performed a rather clever trick.

"Exactly! And it is in this maze that the second task will take place, in two weeks time. Your objective will be to retrieve something, and you will have to get through the maze to get it. Understand? Any questions?"

"What do we 'ave to find?" Fleur spoke up, looking tentative. There was no way the task would be that simple.

"Well, I couldn't possibly tell you that just yet…" Bagman responded, with a slight leer. "Besides, the details of that are still being finalised, as it were. Anything else?"

"What's the catch?" was Harry's cynical question. Bagman gave him a thin smile; apparently, he didn't need to be as friendly to someone having their name dragged through the papers. Although of course, the initial article had dragged up the controversy about Bagman himself, so he probably wasn't very happy with Harry at present.

"The catch, as you put it Mr Potter, is – well, I can tell you that it will be more than a simple matter of navigating the maze. Other than that, you'll have to find out! Anything else?" No-one responded. Bagman clapped his hands together happily. "Well, in that case, I'll see you soon for the second task! Good luck…"


	19. Nightmare After Nightmare

**Chapter 16: Nightmare after Nightmare**

Harry didn't really know whether to be worried about the second task or not. Finding his way through the maze wasn't going to be too difficult, he imagined, but who knew what obstacles beside getting lost there might be. He wasn't going to put anything past the Tournament organisers, not after the first task. And he had no idea what to plan for. On the other hand, there was absolutely no way possible that the obstacles could be more dangerous than a dragon, so that was a plus.

At least the anticipation of the task seemed to be distracting people from discussing whether he was a murderer or not. Nobody seemed to have the courage to ask him to his face, for which he was grateful, but he had been constantly aware of the whispers following him around. They seemed to have been diminished after his talk with the Champions; he suspected Cedric may have put in a word for him, although it could equally have been excitement about the task.

He couldn't quite muster the same enthusiasm. At best, the task was a distraction from whatever was happening concerning the Darrows. He had still had no information about the matter, and was beginning to get annoyed. He would rather have liked to know whether he should be keeping an eye out for marauding Aurors bent on carting him off to Azkaban. Not that he was entirely sure what he would have done, should such a thing happen. Thinking it over, late at night, he had entertained wild notions of duelling it out with them, refusing to go quietly. Rationally though, he knew such a response was foolish in the extreme, and in all likelihood, he would be too stunned to do anything other than meekly accept his fate.

He didn't share these concerns with his friends, recognising them for mere flights of fancy. Besides, they were all too concerned about the more immediate dangers of the Tournament. They knew that, whatever was inside the maze, it would be no walkover.

They were right.

* * *

_Harry fled through the maze of bone, the foul creature charging after him, calling his name hungrily. In the distance, he could hear similar cries, other creatures calling to him, Viktor, Fleur, Cedric… He ran as fast as he could, too terrified by the nightmarish thing intent on eating him to even think about defending himself. As he crashed into a wall, bouncing off and stumbling along the maze, he dropped his wand. He cried out, weeping with terror, but the thing was coming, and there was no time to retrieve his only weapon – he ran, faster and harder, until his lungs burnt in his chest. Darting down a passage, he stumbled to a halt, his eyes wide as he realised that the passage was a dead end. He whirled round as the light was blocked out, to be greeted with the monstrous thing lurking at the entrance, giggling and gibbering his name. He stepped backwards, pressing himself against the wall of the passage as the creature advanced, its enormous jaws opened wide, baring teeth the size of knives, wider, wider, wider…_

Harry woke up, covered in sweat, panic stricken, the sheets sticking to his body. He looked around the room frantically, trying to remember where he was, telling himself that he was safe in his dorm room, not in imminent danger of being devoured by monsters in a creepy maze.

"_Oh no, wait… That's not entirely accurate, is it? I mean, you don't know what's going to happen to you, do you?"_

Harry groaned, burying his head in his hands and sinking back down on the bed. "Can't you leave me in peace for one moment? Please?"

"_What, I'm bored, you're awake… Why shouldn't we chat? I've got to get you nice and sharp for this morning, don't forget…"_

Harry sighed. How could he forget? The second task, in – he checked his clock – five hours. Wonderful. He still had no idea what he was going to be facing in there. He wasn't looking forward to finding out.

"_Oh, do stop whinging. Just get on with it already, it can't be any worse than what you've already done."_

Harry frowned sceptically, but didn't bother with a response. Titus probably wouldn't listen in any case. After a brisk shower, he headed down to the common room, deciding to take advantage of the quiet. Taking a seat where he would see if anyone was coming, he held out his hand, focussing hard. After a moment, a small flame popped into existence in his palm, flickering brightly in the breeze through the open window. Harry grinned in triumphant delight. It wasn't exactly a grand work of magic, but wandless magic was becoming easier and easier for him. He went through a couple of other spells, levitating a quill left on the table, and casting a wandless lumos spell. The last one was bizarre, the magic causing his entire hand to glow brightly.

There came the sound of footsteps on the staircase, and Harry cancelled the spell immediately. Parvati came into the common room, stopping in her tracks when she saw him. It was the first time they had been alone together since the Ball, and she smiled awkwardly, trying to formulate an appropriate greeting. Harry nodded at her, getting up to spare them both a little embarrassment, but as he left, she called out to him.

"Good luck today, Harry. I'll be thinking of you."

He turned back, a little surprised. She seemed to feel the same way; there was confusion on her face, as if she couldn't quite believe what she had just said. Nevertheless, she smiled at him, a much more genuine smile, and he returned a tentative grin of his own.

"Thanks, I appreciate that." He tailed off, unsure of what to say. He didn't really know her that well, despite four years of school together, and although they'd had fun at the Ball, she had shunned him after Skeeter's article. Really, what else was there to say? They were clearly never going to be close, but Harry couldn't really bring himself to be that disappointed or saddened. He forced another smile. "I'll do my best to make it entertaining for everyone, don't worry."

Parvati laughed nervously. "I'm sure you'll succeed. So, yeah… good luck."

"Thanks," Harry responded, again. Parvati hurried off, leaving the common room at not quite a run, but too quickly to be called a walk. Harry shook his head. Why was talking to girls so difficult? They should be more like Ginny or Hermione; then everything would be far easier, he was sure of it.

* * *

In the two weeks since Bagman had shown them the maze, there had been a significant change. Previously, it had resembled an overgrown shrubbery. Now, the leafy walls towered over the spectator stands, nearly as tall as the dragon had been. Harry had to admit, it was an impressive, not to mention ominous, sight. Bagman still seemed cheerful enough though, and Harry wondered idly whether there was anything that might wipe the perpetual smile off his face.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament! In this task, the four Champions – " here he waved at them, huddled together near the entrance to the maze, "will have to make their way through the maze, and locate something – or perhaps I should say some_one_ – special to them. After breakfast this morning, a friend or relative of each champion was placed in the centre of the maze. The champions have one hour to locate them and return them to this spot. After that, there will be a point deducted from their final score for every two extra minutes that they take. Of course, it is not merely a simple matter of finding their way through the maze, oh no!" Bagman grinned gleefully. Harry found it difficult to match his enthusiasm, and a quick glance round the others suggested they were equally indifferent. "No, there are… obstacles, scattered throughout the maze. The champions will have to overcome any obstacles they find, and let me tell you, that will require considerable mental fortitude!"

Harry frowned, picking up on Bagman's remark quickly. Mental fortitude? What did he mean by that? Before he could ponder it further, Bagman was waving them into the maze. The four champions set off as a group, bunching together instinctively. The maze seemed nothing more than ordinary, but something about it made Harry's flesh crawl. At the end of the entrance passage, there were four exits. The champions looked at each other, tentatively.

"Well, good luck! We will see each other on the other side, yes?" Krum almost sounded jaunty, and with a wave he headed off down the nearest path to him. With a shrug, Cedric followed suit, taking the path to the left. Fleur and Harry were left with the two middle ones. They eyed them cautiously. There was nothing specific about them, but neither looked inviting. Harry glanced over at his companion. She was trembling, ever so slightly. He reached out, touching her arm gently.

"Let's make a deal; you don't tell people I was scared, I won't tell people you were, ok?"

His joke broke the surface, and she laughed shakily, nodding at him with a grateful smile. He returned it, and then they both took the path nearest to them, Harry heading right, Fleur left. He hadn't gone more than twenty paces before the path seemed utterly closed off behind him. No light made it through the entrance, and the maze was incredibly tall, with very little light penetrating over the top. He could only go forward. At the end of the first path, there was a crossroads. He paused, confused. The path Fleur had taken ought to have brought her out somewhere along this path, but there was no gap in the hedge. Apparently, the maze was bigger than it looked. Checking his watch, he drew his wand.

"Point me!" His wand span in his palm, pointing him down the right hand path. Throwing his fate behind the spell, he began to jog down the path.

It quickly became routine. Crossroads, point spell, jog, again and again. It was about ten minutes into the task when Harry began to feel nervous. Where were the obstacles? Weren't they supposed to be facing things down as well? Not that he was complaining; a brisk jog was not his idea of a good morning, but it beat dragons.

Then he rounded a corner, and was greeted with the sight of his uncle, sitting in his chair and reading the paper.

He skidded to a halt, dumbfounded and speechless. What was going on? He approached carefully, his wand out and ready for use. His uncle continued to read blithely, either ignoring Harry or just utterly unaware of his presence. As Harry approached, the living room of number four Privet Drive slowly materialised around them. He didn't notice. When Harry was in front of his uncle, he cleared his throat, nervously. Uncle Vernon lowered his paper, scowling.

"What do _you _want, boy? Can't you see I'm busy?" he flicked the paper back up, blocking Harry from his sight. Harry frowned.

"Uncle Vernon… What – what are you doing here?"

Vernon continued to ignore him. Harry reached out, pulling the paper down. "Uncle Vernon, what – "

"What the hell do you think you're doing boy? How dare you interrupt my evening!" He pushed himself from his chair with difficulty; he was much fatter than Harry remembered, and he towered over Harry. The sudden explosion of anger continued, with Vernon jabbing his finger at Harry like a sword. "I slave away all day, working myself to the bone to put food on the table for my family – _my_ family, boy, of which you are no part!"

Harry felt himself go cold inside. "What – what do you mean, I'm no part of it?"

Vernon sneered. "Why would we want _you_? You've been nothing but a drain on this family since you arrived. You're just like those wastrel parents of yours."

Harry backed away, horrified at his uncle's words. He couldn't believe this was happening, refused to believe it. As he backed away though, someone barged into him from behind, knocking him to the floor. He looked up to see Dudley storming past, intent on taking up position in front of the television (and had that been there a moment ago?). He rubbed his shoulder, painful from its impact with the ground.

"Watch where you're going, you idiot!" he snapped, irritably. This proved to be a mistake. Dudley ignored him, apparently hypnotised by the glow of the television, but Vernon suddenly turned bright red.

"What did you just call him boy? How dare you speak to my son that way! You will apologise at once!"

"Why should I apologise, he hit me?" Harry retorted indignantly.

"So? I'm sure he had good reason, didn't you Dudders?"

Dudley grunted in response, something which Vernon genuinely seemed proud of. He smiled fondly at his son, before turning back to Harry, grimacing as if looking at something foul.

"I told you to apologise, Potter. Now."

Harry opened his mouth to tell Vernon to make him, but something told him that might not be a wise move. He did not know what had happened, but his uncle seemed to have lost his firm but fair attitude to discipline. He attempted a vaguely apologetic look in Dudley's direction. "Sorry Dud. Didn't mean to be rude."

Dudley grunted again at the sound of his name, but didn't divert his attention. Vernon nodded grudgingly, clearly disappointed not to have a chance to yell at Harry further. This scared Harry further; what had happened to his family? As he stared around the room in confusion, his aunt came in from the kitchen, carrying a glass of whiskey, which she placed by Vernon's side with a smile of satisfaction. As she looked up, Harry entered her field of vision, and her smile flickered, becoming harder, shaded with distaste.

"Boy, go and clean the table. I want it spotless, or you don't eat tonight, do you understand?"

"What do you mean 'I don't eat'? You're not going to feed me?" Harry was horrified. He had never seen the Dursleys this… unloving. Petunia glared at him sourly.

"Of course not! Why should we feed you if you don't earn your food?"

"Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, I think you might be under a spell…" Harry raised his wand cautiously, trying not to provoke them, but at the mention of 'spell', his aunt and uncle stiffened in fear. At the sight of Harry's wand, Petunia cowered behind her husband. "It's ok, I'm not going to harm you, but I think someone's done something do you, a mind control spell or something, and – "

"Put it away!" Petunia hissed from behind Vernon, as her husband rose to his feet, flexing his muscles.

"It's ok Aunt Petunia, it's just a harmless spell, you'll be fine…"

"Put it away, you little freak!" Vernon yelled at him, and Harry nearly dropped his wand in shock.

"Uncle Vernon, what…"

"I said, put it away! Put it away and get out! I won't have this unnaturalness in my house, I will not stand for it! Get out, _get out!_"

Harry fled. He turned his back on his warped family and ran as fast as he could, paying no attention to where he was going. He ran so hard his lungs started to burn, desperate to put it as far behind him as he could. What had happened to them? Death Eaters? Had Voldemort set an attack for them? He had a pounding headache, and he had a nagging sensation that something wasn't right about it all, but he couldn't put his finger on what, too disturbed and distressed to think clearly. It never occurred to him to wonder precisely what his family's living room was doing in the middle of a maze. Indeed, he was hardly aware of the maze any more.

He had been running for about five minutes when the fog on his mind began to clear. He slowed down, panting. He didn't know what was going on, but he needed to get out of here. And he needed to find whoever the Ministry had chosen for this task. Then he could get out of the nightmarish place. He re-cast the point spell, checking his route, and followed the appropriate path.

But as he jogged, he could not stop thinking about what he had seen. His mind seesawed back and forth between the desire to complete the task, and recollection of what the Dursleys had said. What had been done to them? What was the point of this, if the people he cared about thought he was a freak? He might as well just give up now, save himself the effort.

"That sounds just like you, Harry." A familiar, disappointed voice. Harry slowed to a stop, his eyes shut, begging for this not to be happening, but when he turned round, Remus was standing there. His expression suggested he could barely stand to look at Harry.

"Remus, what's going on? Please, tell me what's happening, I don't understand this – "

"No surprise. You always were a little dim, weren't you Harry?" Remus looked at Harry sternly, his eyes hard. Harry cowered under the glare, wincing at his guardian's words. "I mean, you couldn't even control your magic properly by the time you left for Hogwarts! Accidental magic, at eleven! You might as well have been a squib, you know that, don't you Harry? So yes, give up now, do us all a favour. Let's face it, you're never going to amount to anything, are you? Mediocre student, no real family… You're a mess, Harry. A worthless mess."

Harry was unable to move, riveted by the devastating onslaught. His cheeks were wet, and he realised that he had started to cry. "Remus… Why are you talking like this? Why are you all – why do you – why do you hate me?"

"Because you're useless, Harry." The voice came from behind him, and he whirled to see Peter standing there, a contemptuous look on his face. "You're pathetic, a snivelling little brat who can barely function without a guiding hand. I swear, it's a good thing your parents died when they did; they'd have been embarrassed to call you their son."

"You can't even work out why we can't stand you, boy!" And now, Vernon and Petunia were there, sneering at him as if he was dirt. His uncle was spitting the words, words clearly held in check for years. "Too thick to realise that you're an unloveable, useless, pathetic, unnatural freak, just like your parents. Dirt comes from dirt boy, I've always said so. You're just an embarrassment to us, a burden on our generosity. We only took you in out of duty. Not that I blame these two," he gestured at the Marauders, who had congregated together away from the Dursleys. "They're freaks, no denying it, but you're a freak even by their standards, aren't you?"

"No, no, I'm not, I'm your nephew, your ward – you're my family!" Harry pleaded, turning to each of them in sequence, but they would not listen, deaf to his distress.

"Please, don't remind me." Peter turned away, disgusted, looking at Harry as if he was contagious.

"Useless little freak. Little orphan freak!" Dudley had joined them, and was pointing at Harry, laughing his head off at his cousin's misery. "Nobody loves you, nobody even likes you, do they Potter?"

"Dud, please… Don't… You're my friend!" Harry's tears were falling thicker and faster now, but they paid no attention, continuing their mockery. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and Remus was there, looking almost kindly. He knelt down until their faces were level, and Harry felt a twinge of hope.

"Harry, you have to understand, we know you can't help it. It's not a choice you've made, it's just that, well, you're utterly pathetic, in every respect. I mean, you have to understand, when your parents died – they didn't put up a fight, you know, didn't even cast a single spell to defend themselves. They wanted to be rid of you, even if that meant dying. I'm sorry, but that's the truth."

"No…" Harry whispered, but now a traitorous part of him was saying, _what if they're right? Maybe you are just an unwanted, unloved freak. Maybe you should just sit down and wait for the end. Nobody will care. They'll be happier without you. Go on, give up. Just sit down and rot._

"_HARRY!!" _

The voice came from nowhere, apparently inside his head, sending him staggering. He fell to his knees, clutching his head in pain. But the traitorous part of him just got louder, redoubling its efforts. The other voice responded, angrily.

"_Harry, this isn't right, you know it. They love you, and so do your friends!_"

"My friends…" Harry looked up, a trace of defiance on his face. "Why would they hang out with me if they didn't like me? They don't have a duty to me, what's your reasoning for them?"

"Pity."

Harry looked round, and was horrified to see his friends had joined the circle. Neville was the one who had spoken, and he elaborated. "I felt sorry for you, pitied you because you were an orphan."

"You were famous," said Draco, in his customary drawl. Harry had never appreciated how devastating the Malfoy sneer could be when it was directed at you.

"You were the only one who seemed more out of place than me; I thought we could relate. I was wrong though, wasn't I? The only benefit of being your friend is that I look even smarter by comparison!" Hermione looked vicious, sharp faced.

Ron and Ginny shrugged. "Our parents made us hang out with you. We thought you might be rich someday."

"No… No, this is a lie. You're my friends, my family. You can't think like this!" The defiance was gone now. Harry simply could not understand why they had all changed so suddenly, and he didn't care. He just wanted them to stop, to go back to normal. "Please, it's a spell, or a potion, or something – this isn't right!"

"Poor deluded Harry. Can't accept the truth, even when it's served to you on a platter, can you? Merlin, you really are pathetic. I can't believe I used to have a crush on you." Ginny's eyes were spiteful and harsh, and Harry could not look at her.

Harry's mouth moved soundlessly, wordlessly pleading for it all to stop, but they would not be silent, continuing to mock him, belittle him. He hung his head, kneeling on the ground with his hands over his ears, finally resorting to pretending it wasn't happening. But the words were in his head, and they would not be removed, the traitorous part of him repeating them over and over again. Freak. Unnatural. Unloved. Disappointment. Failure. Over and over again, the words rang in his ears, and his silent sobs wracked his chest.

There was a crashing sound, and Harry looked up. Fleur was charging down the path, her face distraught, and yelling over her shoulder in French. She turned to look where she was going, and her eyes fell upon Harry kneeling in her path. Sobbing and throwing her arms open, she ran to him, wrapping herself around him.

"Harry, please, what 'iz 'appening? Why will ze not stop? She iz following me, she won't leave me alone!"

Harry looked over Fleur's shoulder. The only person he could see was Ron. "Fleur, there's no one there. Just Ron."

"Non! Ma soeur, Gabrielle, she follows me, telling me she does not love me!" She whirled round, pointing dramatically. Harry followed her gaze, and once again, there was nothing there. A suspicion began to bloom, his mind now focussing on the fact that someone else was going through this experience.

"Fleur, can you see anyone else? My friends, for instance?"

Fleur looked at him, then stared around, wildly. "Non… Just moi, you, and my sister. Pour quois?"

"I can't see her. But I can see my family, my friends, and they're doing the same thing Fleur. I don't – I don't think it's real. I think it's an illusion."

Fleur stared at him, breathing heavily. Seconds passed, and she gradually became calmer. "Oui, I… I do not hear her quite so much, now."

It was true. Given something else to focus on, the fog on Harry's mind seemed to be clearing. He could still see everyone, but they were less distinct, quieter. He stood up, clinging to Fleur's arm. "I think we should stick together, don't you? Give us both something to focus on." He spoke quietly, anger beginning to simmer beneath his relatively calm exterior. Mental fortitude, Bagman had said. Seeing his family and friends twisted and wrong like that? Yeah, that was definitely an 'obstacle', and one he didn't know how to overcome, except by trying to ignore it. Seeing people you loved warped like that… That was nasty. The dragon might have been dangerous, but this was painful.

"Oui… Yes, I will stay with you."

Harry drew his wand again. "Point me." The wand spun, pointing them down the left hand path, and they set off, hand in hand. Harry checked his watch. Ten minutes left of the hour; ten minutes to find someone, and then get them out again. He suspected he wouldn't score well in this task, but he didn't really care at this point. The task was foul, and he just wanted it over with.

Without the illusions distracting them, getting through the maze was a much simpler task. He and Fleur kept up a continuous stream of chatter, about anything that came to mind, blocking the mental bombardment from whatever spell had been laid over the maze. It was only a few minutes before they found the centre, a clearing with four people in the middle. Ron, Hermione, a young blond girl who looked like Fleur, and Cho Chang. All of them appeared to be asleep. Fleur let go of his hand, charging towards the blond girl and cutting her bonds with a slash of her wand. The instant they parted, the illusions came back, full force. Harry felt himself starting to crumble again, but the certain knowledge that they were illusions sustained him, and he headed to Ron and Hermione. He was confused, for a moment. Was he supposed to be taking Ron, or Hermione? Hermione, he assumed, was for Viktor, in this instance.

The matter was resolved when Viktor himself arrived, huddled up with Cedric. The other two champions had clearly arrived at the same conclusion as Harry and Fleur, and they greeted each other grimly. Viktor cut Hermione's bonds and cradled her to him, still asleep. Harry cut Ron's bonds, and Cedric released Cho. The 'victims' seemed to have been bespelled; when they were released, they floated a little off the ground, making it easier to lead them back through the maze. En masse, the illusions seemed to disappear completely, and from centre to the entrance, the maze took mere minutes to traverse. They travelled in silence. Conversation was… difficult, after what they had all been through.

As they reached the entrance, the roar of the crowd greeted them. They walked blinking into the light, their respective charges instantly waking up as they crossed the threshold of the maze. They stopped for a moment, letting the 'captives' recover, and the champions shared a look.

"That was 'orrible," Fleur said, faintly. She looked pale, still shaken by what she had seen.

"Let's not talk about it, ok? I'm going to be having nightmares about it as it is." Cedric looked as if he was going to be sick, and Harry wondered what he had seen. Had all the illusions been the same?

They handed their charges over to the attendants before making their way over to the judges. Bagman was standing there to welcome them.

"And our champions return together! An unexpected result, I'm sure you'll all agree, but what a challenge that was! We've seen our champions go through some tough trials today, mentally and emotionally, but I'm delighted to say that they triumphed! And so, if I might ask, what did you all think of the maze? Tough? Challenging? I'm sure you'd agree, a master-class of spell work, no?"

"Vous êtes un morceau de merde" Fleur snapped angrily, her disdain evident. Bagman furrowed his brow in evident confusion, apparently not linguistically gifted. He looked over at the others curiously.

"With the greatest of respect Minister, go fuck yourself." Harry muttered, perhaps fortunately.

"What was that Harry?" Bagman enquired, staring hard at him. Harry plastered a strained smile on his face.

"It was lovely sir. A pleasure to take part."

With that, the four champions left the arena, in silence. None of them wanted to think about what they had seen in the maze if they could help it. Unfortunately for Harry, Remus, Peter, and his friends were waiting for him, looks of concern on their faces. Ron and Hermione still looked a little dazed, but well. He drew to a halt, wondering if they had seen what had happened.

"Harry, are you alright? What was happening in there? We couldn't hear anything, we just saw you crying. What happened?" Remus reached out as he spoke, clasping Harry's shoulder tightly. Ginny said nothing, but gave him the hug he so clearly needed. Harry smiled weakly at them. He couldn't bring himself to talk about it just yet. But he had to affirm something with them.

"I love you guys. All of you."

Remus and Peter smiled, fondly, but slightly confused, while his friends looked a little uncomfortable, but grateful.

"Well, thanks Harry. We love you too." Hermione spoke, but she spoke for all of them. Harry smiled at her.

"Yeah. I know."


	20. A Matter of Honour

**Chapter 17: A Matter of Honour**

Harry didn't discuss what had happened in the maze with anyone. It was too personal; it would have felt deeply strange to discuss it with anyone who hadn't been through it with him, as if breaking a confidence. Of course, he hadn't spoken about it with the other champions, either. They weren't that close, although any lingering resentment towards him over his inclusion seemed to have disappeared, finally. It had taken a few days for the effects of the spell to wear off totally; whatever had been done to the maze, it lingered in Harry's head, and the week after the task was packed with nightmares, repeating what he had seen in the maze.

While the champions had not spoken of their specific experiences, enough people knew the basic nature of what had happened for it to leak out, and various journalists had criticised the Ministry's decision to 'risk the champions' mental stability in the name of entertainment'. Others had pointed out that the champions had signed up for harrowing, dangerous situations when they entered the Tournament, showing yet again that few people genuinely believed that Harry hadn't entered himself. More pertinently, this had resulted in Remus and Peter dragging him aside every couple of days to make sure he was ok, which was sweet, but he was starting to get a bit annoyed with it.

A more pertinent issue at present was the continuing question of what the Darrows wanted. Dumbledore had gathered them together for another briefing a few days after the second task, and had informed them that the Ministry had, essentially, told the Darrows to drop the issue. They had maintained the stance that Harry had been acting in self-defence; the problem was, the Darrows didn't actually seem to care _why_ Harry had ended up killing Edmund. They just wanted 'justice' – more accurately, revenge. There seemed to be no legal way for them to achieve this though, leaving Dumbledore concerned that they might try something more direct. After all, they had shown that they didn't have too much of an issue with illegal activity, if Edmund Darrow was a good example of the rest of the family.

If he was honest though, Harry would have welcomed the opportunity for a duel. He had been on edge since the article accusing him had first appeared, and the disturbing illusions of the second task had only made this worse. Conjuring then destroying chairs and desks only did so much, and he couldn't even do that regularly, given his workload. Several staff members seemed to view his exemption from exams as an excuse to burden him with more essays. Frankly, work was the last thing on his mind, and certainly the last thing he wanted – although he would have to admit, this was generally the case anyway.

And so, when Viktor came to find him, Harry was once again slaving away over an essay in the library. Transfiguration this time, a source of endless frustration to him; he could perform the spells almost without thinking, but McGonagall insisted on him showing that he understood why the spells worked. He didn't need to know _how_ he changed a quill into a goblet, he wasn't going to go into teaching, so he'd never need to explain it! This hadn't gone over well with the stern professor, and he had been instructed to write an extra three inches on the subject. He had been working for six hours, and he was still an inch short. He had no idea how Hermione managed to routinely turn in essays of several feet in length. He was, therefore, delighted to see the Bulgarian, eager for any form of distraction.

"Afternoon Viktor. What can I do for you?"

Viktor grinned at him. "We thought there should be some Champion bonding. Four man Quidditch, twenty minutes. Do not be late!" With that, he walked away, whistling jauntily.

Harry looked down at his essay, and sighed. He should probably do some more work on it… But it was only one mark, and the chance to play Quidditch against an international Seeker was not something he was likely to get again anytime soon. He packed away his books, and hurried out of the library.

* * *

Harry clung tightly to his broom as Viktor zipped past him like a turbo-charged hippogriff. They were both on Firebolts, and he had never played such high speed Quidditch. Currently, Fleur and Cedric were in goal, and he and Viktor were playing as Chasers. The Bulgarian was just as good with the quaffle as he was with the snitch, and Harry had barely taken possession; now, Viktor needed only one more goal to win. Harry had scored once. Still, the wind in his hair was exhilarating, and he was more relaxed fifty feet off the ground than he had been since Christmas. He had missed flying.

Taking a moment to adjust himself, he shot after Viktor as fast as he could stand, gaining on his opponent rapidly. Viktor looked back over his shoulder, and grinned cheekily at him. Then, he twisted his broom, spinning round so that he was facing Harry, and started flying backwards! Harry wasn't going to stand for such an outrageous display, and he leant forward along his broom, minimising the wind resistance and coaxing the last drop of speed out of the broom. Viktor's smile flickered uncertainly as Harry cannoned towards him, his arm outstretched to try and snatch the quaffle. Thwarting him, Viktor punched it up into the air, dropping out of Harry's way.

Harry cursed, pulling to an abrupt stop, before soaring higher after the red ball. Viktor was slightly behind him, then neck and neck, still grinning in wild abandon. He looked over at Harry, and gleefully called something that Harry couldn't hear, deafened by the wind. Then the quaffle started to drop, gravity finally kicking in, and it shot past them both. They both pulled simultaneous u-turns, flipping round to race after it, but Krum's skill and experience gave him a slight edge, and he was ahead of Harry.

Then, with a last look back at Harry, as if to say 'Watch this!', Viktor pushed himself off his broom.

Harry cried out, startled, and pushed his broom faster, trying to catch up with him. Viktor was falling, straight as an arrow, directly towards the quaffle, faster than Harry could fly. A moment later, and he had snatched it from the air. He stuck out his arm, and his abandoned broom shot towards him, and he grabbed it out of the sky, flipping himself around and into the saddle. With an elegant movement, he was steering towards the goal, and punching the quaffle past Cedric's outstretched arm.

Harry was too busy to be disappointed, still applauding the sheer audacity of the move. You'd have to be crazy or desperate to try it, but you'd have to be brilliant to pull it off. And unquestionably, Viktor was brilliant. The four champions drifted towards each over, spouting admiration for Viktor's skill. The Bulgarian lapped it up, preening slightly, but he somehow managed to appear confident, not arrogant. There was only so much praise that could be lavished on him without it getting nauseating though, and as they slowly drifted back to the ground, conversation turned to staff members, as any group of students with little in common will inevitably do.

"Madame Maxime, she iz so sweet, but, well, she does not like to admit ze truth. She thinks zat we do not know what she iz, but it iz obvious! Like your groundsman, 'Agrid, non? An 'alf giant."

Harry shrugged, aware that his friend was sensitive about the subject, but it was hardly something he could deny. Cedric nodded in agreement to Fleur's words.

"I guess they just don't like to admit it. I mean, giants don't exactly have a good reputation, do they? And especially when you work at a school…"

Krum snorted. "I would rather have a half giant – even a pure giant – than Karkaroff!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You don't like him then?"

"The man is useless! You know his past? That he was a Death Eater, for your Lord Voldemort?"

Cedric flinched at the name, and Harry shook his head in despair. "It's just a name, Cedric. And no, I didn't. Seriously, he was a Death Eater? How come he's wandering around free then?"

Krum shrugged, his contempt for the man perfectly clear. "He turned on his friends, gave their names to your Ministry. He had appalling beliefs, but he could at least have been loyal. Utterly worthless. He is not even a good teacher, he spends most of his time looking after his sister – we were all surprised that she did not come to the Tournament. They are… inseparable?"

Harry nodded vaguely. It seemed incredible to him that a former Death Eater could be employed in a school – Snape was a slightly different case, since he had been a spy. And given his own suspicious entry into the Tournament… Surely Dumbledore would have made certain that Karkaroff had nothing to do with it? Nevertheless, he resolved to be careful around the Durmstrang headmaster. Krum turned to Harry and Cedric.

"So, what about the staff here? We have not seen much of them."

"McGonagall's a decent teacher," Cedric offered, and Harry nodded in agreement. "Strict, but fair, and she knows her stuff. The Defence teacher last year was good as well, Professor Lupin. He left at the end of the year though, not sure why. I've seen him around this year a couple of times."

"He's one of my guardians, old family friend," Harry informed them. "Dumbledore wanted a few extra hands for the Tournament."

"I thought ze Ministry was offering assistance?" Fleur enquired.

"Yeah well, they're pretty useless, for the most part."

Cedric frowned at this opinion, and Harry remembered that Cedric's father worked for the Ministry. He blushed, and apologised.

"And the bad staff? Who is the worst?"

Two simultaneous cries of "Snape!" rang across the pitch, and Harry and Cedric both spouted several examples of Snape's crimes against teaching, interrupting each other with better stories. Fleur and Viktor both seemed appalled that such a person was allowed to teach, before chiming in with their own bad experiences. They spent a cheerful half hour sharing stories and abusing staff members, but they were interrupted by Peter's arrival. Harry looked up at him, and immediately became serious.

"Peter, what's wrong?"

"You need to come with me, Harry. Now."

* * *

"He's challenged me to a duel?" Harry exclaimed incredulously.

On the other side of his desk, Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid so, yes. It's an old law, and nobody ever thought to abolish it. In cases such as these, the 'victim's family can challenge the defendant to a duel. It's a matter of honour to them, apparently. By getting away with the 'murder' of their son, you've offended their sense of family honour, brought the Darrow name into disrepute. Quite what challenging a fourteen year old boy to a duel to the death does to your name, I'm not entirely sure."

Harry slumped his head into his hands, not entirely sure he believed what he was hearing. "Is there any way I can get out of this?"

"Yes. You can admit, publicly, that you were wrong to attack Edmund Darrow, and that you accept the full legal consequences for his unlawful death."

Harry put his head up, his eyes blazing with anger. "Fuck that. When is this duel?"

Dumbledore gazed at him sorrowfully, saddened by his students recklessness. "In a week. It will take place at the Ministry. Harry, if you lose, Darrow may choose to kill you, please understand this. Irrespective of that, you would be expected to shoulder the legal consequences, just as if you chose to forfeit the duel."

"Then I'd better not lose then, had I? Is he any good?"

"We don't know," Moody stepped in, his face grim. "He hasn't shown up on the duelling circuit, but that doesn't mean he can't handle himself. I think it fair to say he wouldn't have taken this option if he wasn't fairly confident, everyone knows what you did to that dragon, after all. You're hardly an easy target."

"Fair enough. I'd better get training, hadn't I?" Harry paused for a moment, considering something. "Is it just me, or does it seem a little… reckless, challenging the person who killed your brother to a duel? I mean, surely he ought to be a little worried about what I might do to him?"

"Having met him, Harry, I don't think Jedgar Darrow has much capacity left for rational thought. He is driven by grief, and an obsessive belief in honour. The Darrows are Purebloods of the most traditional sort. They have been implacable ever since the article first appeared – whether this is a plot by Voldemort or not, they genuinely believe that they are justified in what they are doing. You may have to kill him yourself, if you do win. Otherwise, he will not stop."

Harry stared Dumbledore in the eye, considering this latest piece of information. Did he want to kill, again? In all honesty, no, he really didn't. But he wasn't going to let them punish him for defending his family. He was not going to bow down to them, never. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it Professor."

There was a moment of silence. Dumbledore was visibly shocked by Harry's statement, and the cold calm with which it had been delivered. In the end though, he merely shrugged, with another sigh. "So be it. I shall inform them that you accept their challenge. I suggest you get training."

"Yes Professor. Thank you sir." Harry walked out, his heart hammering. Had he really just accepted a challenge to a duel to the death? The very idea seemed insane. As he made his way down the stairs, he had to brace himself against the wall as a wave of nausea washed over him.

What was he doing? He shouldn't be doing this, it was crazy. He thought back to what Remus had said, when Harry had informed him of his intention to compete fully in the Tournament. He had talked about the 'Potter pride'. Yes, he was proud, and maybe more than was advisable. But more than that – here, he was _right_. Edmund Darrow shouldn't be dead, he would accept that. But Harry wasn't going to condemn himself for an accident, especially given the circumstances surrounding it.

After Sirius had revealed his treachery, Harry had sworn that he wasn't going to let his former godfather win, not under any circumstances. He had sworn to make him pay, or die trying. It had been an oath sworn in anger, and inevitably, the rage had cooled somewhat. But it hadn't lessened, merely become more rational, less hasty. And it was with this view that Harry considered the pending duel. Darrow wanted revenge. Harry wanted justice. He had been right to attack Edmund Darrow, even if the eventual outcome had been tragic. For Jedgar Darrow to want to kill him after that – it was understandable, maybe, but it wasn't right. And Harry was sick of people trying to mess up his life.

He was going to fight.

* * *

Jedgar Darrow walked into the mansion with a spring in his step, making his way up the grand staircase. In the study, Rosier was lounging at the desk, whistling a jaunty tune whilst flicking through a book. He looked up at Darrow's approach, and grinned at him.

"I trust you have good news, little man? Has the little hero taken the bait?"

"Yes. We duel in a week." Darrow kept his response brief. Rosier unsettled him. Torture was all well, but it was a means to an end, not an end in itself. Nobody should enjoy inflicting pain that much. Although, he mused, given what he planned to do to Potter, perhaps he shouldn't be so judgemental. He gave Rosier a courteous nod, aware that being rude could be fatal, given the man's hair-trigger temper, and strolled onwards to the Dark Lord's chambers.

Receiving permission to enter, he approached the chair, which was, as always, facing the fire. Sirius Black was waiting in attendance. The Dark Lord seemed perpetually fascinated by the flickering flame, for some reason. Darrow didn't dare think about it too much though. His first meeting with the Dark Lord had taught him his place, and that place was subservient. He knew that now. He knew not to question that position, as well. That way pain lay.

"Yes?"

Darrow shivered, unconsciously, as the Dark Lord greeted him. The voice was so… other. He could easily believe that the Dark Lord was not human, that he was dark magic personified. Nothing human should sound like that. Or look like that. It was beautiful, in its own way, but it was also hideous.

"Potter accepted my challenge. We will duel in a week's time, to the death."

"You will not."

"My Lord?" Darrow blinked in surprise. He had thought that was the whole point of the plot.

"Potter is mine, and mine alone. Beat him senseless, cause him unending pain, scar him for life – but do anything fatal, or anything that cannot be healed, and I will recreate your actions on your own body. Do you understand?"

"But – I mean, yes, my Lord." Darrow bowed his head, hastily. It galled him to do so, but he could not risk being executed before he had killed Potter. Then the stain on his family's honour would be irreparable.

The Dark Lord eyed the young man coldly. He wondered what his Master was thinking, praying that he had offered satisfactory service. The Dark Lord nodded, and Darrow was abruptly yanked upright by his hair. Darrow squawked in surprise and pain, struggling in Sirius's grip. Voldemort silenced him with a gesture, and fixed him with his red eyes.

"Repeat after me Darrow. I am not to kill Harry Potter."

Darrow mumbled the words, and Voldemort narrowed his eyes. He raised his hand, clutching his wand. Darrow sniffed, and staggered. He sniffed again, swiping at his nose with his sleeve. He let out a cry when he saw that his elegant coat was now stained with blood. Looking at Voldemort in horror, he opened his mouth to plead, but Voldemort did not let him speak.

"Repeat after me, and this time with conviction. I am not to kill Harry Potter. Understood?"

Darrow repeated the words hurriedly, gabbling the words again and again. Satisfied, Voldemort lifted the spell, and the blood ceased to flow. Standing there, quivering, Darrow knew he must not be a particularly inspiring sight, but nevertheless, he sank to his knees once more.

"I will not fail you master."

"See that you don't. Get out."

Darrow made his way from the room at a brisk walk, as fast as he could go without looking like a coward. That, after all, would have been dishonourable.


	21. Duel

**Chapter 18: Duel**

_**Boy-Who-Lived in duel to death!**_

**A **_**Daily Prophet**_** exclusive, by Rita Skeeter**

_At eleven o'clock this morning, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, will stand opposite Jedgar Darrow, sole surviving heir to the Darrow family, in a duel of honour. Potter, as readers will be well aware, stands accused of murdering Edmund Darrow, Jedgar's younger brother. A proper investigation into this matter has repeatedly been blocked by Ministry officials, who give the ludicrous response that Potter was 'acting in self-defence'. Quite how this justifies the cover up of a murder by a fourteen year old, the Ministry has not deigned to explain. _

_Potter has declined all requests to explain his actions in person, leaving this reporter to conclude that he is justifiably ashamed of his actions. I do not seek to blame him for what has happened, or suggest that he intended to murder Darrow; he is, after all, only fourteen. However, he is being dangerously ill-served by his guardians, if they do not make him face up to the consequences._

_Today's duel goes someway towards rectifying that fault. My sources suggest that Potter was advised to ignore the challenge from the Darrows, and stay safely hidden away at Hogwarts, but that he chose to face his accuser. If this is so, then it is the first sign that Potter is actually capable of acting honourably. Readers will doubtless recall the suggestions of dark magic mentioned in previous reports. Perhaps we should take this as a welcome sign that he is maturing into a responsible young man._

_Cont. p.2_

The article was accompanied by a truly dreadful photo of him. If Harry had to guess, he would say that it had probably been taken after the second task, given the look of distress on his face. He was fairly sure that he didn't look like that very often. He _hoped_ he didn't look like that very often. Hermione had passed him the paper nervously at breakfast, sure that he would lose his temper over it. Bizarrely, it had had quite the opposite effect on him. Well, that wasn't strictly true; Skeeter's determination to slander him in public still pissed him off no end, particularly given that she couldn't seem to sustain a consistent thread of slurs against him. But instead of losing his temper, he stored it up, determining to use it as further impetus to beat Darrow senseless. Seeing the smug grin wiped off the foul woman's face was just going to be extra satisfying.

Reading over his shoulder, Neville looked troubled, and Harry had to conceal his irritation. His friends had been horrified that he was actually going to take part in this duel. Hermione had ranted for several minutes, calling the practice 'barbaric', while Ron and Ginny were simply scared he was going to get killed. Neville had taken it surprisingly calmly, shrugging and wishing Harry good luck. Harry wasn't entirely sure how much of this was because of his resolution not to second guess Harry's actions, but he appreciated it. Draco had actually encouraged his decision, with the sole caveat that if Harry were to lose to 'that jumped up new blood', Draco would never speak to him again.

Harry was confident that he and Draco would be speaking for years to come, though. He had taken every spare moment to train that he could, with both Peter and Moody, and was sure that he would win. He was now pretty evenly matched against Peter, winning about half of their duels, and he could put up a decent showing against Moody, even if he didn't always win. He figured Darrow wasn't going to have half the talent and experience of Peter, and the chances of him being anywhere near as good as Moody were slim, bordering on impossible. He hadn't expressed that to anyone though. He wasn't in the mood for another lecture about 'Constant Vigilance!'

And so, later that morning, he found himself walking through the main hall of the Ministry of Magic. He had never actually been there before, and he had to admit, it was a beautiful place. The walls were lined with shimmering green marble, intricate patterns weaved in gold throughout the stone. In the middle, there was an enormous fountain, with golden statues representing all the magical communities. Closer examination revealed them to be a wildly inaccurate depiction of most of them; house elves might be servile, but Harry refused to believe that centaurs had ever been respectful where wizards were concerned, let alone docile pets. Nevertheless, he had to admire the craftsmanship of it all. He was less impressed with the massive posters of Cornelius Fudge, but that was more to do with his natural cynicism than anything else.

The worst aspect of it all was the crowd of journalists and photographers, their bulbs flashing and blinding him. The moment they laid eyes on him, the journalists surged towards him, baying his name, thrusting note pads in his face, screaming for his comments. He kept a steadfast silence, plodding through the crowd determinedly ignoring them. Peter and Remus stood either side of him, keeping him protected as best they could.

They quickly took cover in one of the lifts, travelling down to the hall where the duel was to take place. Remus looked down at him, concern written all over his features. "Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"That rather depends on how rough he is, doesn't it?" Harry pointed out. Remus frowned disapprovingly, and Harry relented. "I'll be fine. It's just some spoiled little rich kid with an axe to grind, I can handle him."

"Don't get cocky," Peter warned. "We don't know anything about him yet, he could be brilliant."

"I know, I know. Don't worry, you've seen me in action. Besides, he doesn't have a sentient piece of dark magic in his head, I bet you."

"I'm sure that's true…" Remus scowled at the mention of Titus, but didn't make comment. "I realise this may be a strange idea Harry, but we do take an interest you know. We do care about what happens to you, and we'd rather not see you killed because of you're too proud to let this go."

Harry looked up at his guardian indignantly. "You know what would happen if I didn't duel him! I'd basically be found guilty of murder, I'm not going to let him walk over me like that! Besides, you told me my dad would have done exactly the same thing."

"Yes, but that's not necessarily a recommendation, as you're well aware."

Harry shrugged. He had made his decision, and he was comfortable with it.

He was even more comfortable with it when he saw Darrow, as they all entered the duelling hall. He was hardly an imposing physical specimen. He did look intense though, as if nothing was going to prevent him killing Harry. He looked forward to proving him wrong.

The duelling hall itself was curious. There was a typical duelling platform in the middle, but the room was rather more ostentatious than he had imagined it would be. Not exactly the marble elegance of the entrance hall, but pure white stone, with murals depicting famous battles from wizarding history on the walls. It was rather ominous, and for the first time that day, he felt a tremor of nerves. By the platform, there was a stand, where two men in blue robes were waiting patiently. The official recorders; they would monitor the duel for the Ministry, and be in charge of releasing details to the press afterwards.

Darrow was standing with a dapper young man, who kept brushing his flop of brown hair out of his eyes excitedly. He looked over at them as they walked in, and bounded over to them with a yelp of delight. Something about him reminded Harry of Sirius. He grabbed Harry's hand enthusiastically, grinning at him.

"Good morning Mr Potter, good morning! Fine day for it, isn't it? I'm Barty Crouch, the independent adjudicator, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Harry blinked in surprise. He had pegged the man for Muggle born, Halfblood at most. It was rare to find a Pureblood in a suit, unless they were going 'undercover', so to speak. The tabloids regularly published articles about his dissolute lifestyle, but Harry knew better than most that the papers weren't always reliable. Perhaps Crouch was a decent guy after all.

"Hi," he responded, shaking Crouch's hand. "Nice suit."

"Thanks!" Crouch smoothed a small crease out of it proudly. "Say what you like about the Muggles, they can cut a decent set of clothes."

Well. Maybe not.

Peter's hand on the small of his back reminded him of protocol, and he made the undesirable trek over to officially greet Jedgar Darrow. The young man sneered down at him, and Harry idly wondered what it was about Purebloods that naturally disposed them towards the expression.

"Potter."

"Darrow."

They briefly touched hands in a pretence of politeness, and Darrow bared his teeth. "I'm going to kick your arse all over this room, boy."

Harry grinned mirthlessly, and matched Darrow's whisper. "I'd like to see you try, you arrogant piece of shit."

Darrow squeezed Harry's hand tightly, and then walked away. Harry watched him go, rubbing his hand vaguely. Darrow had quite a grip on him, and was stronger than he looked. He mentally raised the man's threat level up a notch. At the platform, Crouch clapped his hands, gathering their attention.

"Alright gentlemen, we all know why we're here! Let's get this underway, shall we? Simple matter, should be out in time for lunch, don't you think? I want a nice, clean duel gentlemen, be careful with each other. Usual rules apply: no Unforgivables or spells that could bring the spectators into danger. Understand?"

Harry and Darrow nodded, their gazes level. Crouch spread his arms.

"Then let's begin! En guarde…"

Harry and Darrow bowed slightly, and shifted side on, legs spread and their wand arms outstretched, ready to cast.

"Ready…"

Harry adjusted his grip on his wand minutely, making it more comfortable in his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus giving him a thumbs up.

"Duel!"

Harry snapped off a stinging hex, testing Darrow's guard and reflexes. His opponent was slow, but he whipped up a decent shield charm, sending the hex ricocheting back at Harry. He ducked lazily, muttering the incantation for a banishing jinx. Darrow cast a perfect _Haurio_ shield, absorbing the spell's magic. He grinned contemptuously at Harry.

"Best you got Potter? This is going to be embarrassing!"

Before Harry could reply, Darrow threw an overpowered _reducto _at him. Harry dived away, and fired a spell back. Once again, Darrow absorbed it, using it for a spell Harry didn't recognise. His timing slightly off, it nicked his cheek, leaving a few spatters of blood on his face. At the side of the platform, Harry heard Remus gasp, but he blocked it out, focusing solely on Darrow.

Darrow began to prowl towards him, his confidence showing. He clearly felt Harry was a soft touch. But Harry had merely been testing the waters, so to speak. He felt he had a decent measure of Darrow now. He flicked a spell at him as fast as he could, and as expected, Darrow blocked it immediately. But it had only been a distraction, and Harry took advantage of it to close the gap between them, while letting rip with the largest fireball he could muster. Darrow whirled away, slashing his wand down to cut the flames away from him, but some of them made contact, licking at the sleeves of his robes. He spun around, his robes whirling and trailing fire and smoke, but quickly sent a curse back at Harry. He extinguished the flames while Harry dodged, and then they both aimed spells at each other. The bolts of light clashed in mid air, showering sparks everywhere and illuminating the platform eerily.

They paused, eyeing each other carefully, edging backwards and forwards, keeping up the pressure on each other. Darrow wasn't looking quite so cocky now.

"That looked like it might have hurt. Want to give up Jedgar?"

Darrow growled at Harry's jibe, and twitched his wand through a complex series of movements. Harry threw up a shield, realising too late that it wasn't a single, powerful spell, but several rapidly cast. He blocked the first two; the third and fourth stabbed into his left arm and his hip. He cried out in pain, staggering backwards, and Darrow pressed his advantage. He flicked his wand, and Harry felt himself snatched into a vice like grip, and he hunched in on himself, as if he was being squeezed like a sponge. He gritted his teeth against the pain, forcing it down as best he could. The pain was incredible, but he managed to loose a spell in Darrow's direction. Fortunately for Darrow, the spell missed, instead slamming into the platform. The platform exploded, peppering Darrow with splinters of wood, although the hole immediately repaired itself. It was hardly a fatal blow, but he was distracted for long enough for Harry to break out of the spell he was under.

He jabbed his wand frantically in Darrow's direction, with a cry of _"Perforatus!_" Razor sharp shards of metal zipped at Darrow, tearing into him. Astonishingly, Darrow barely flinched, sweeping his wand round in an elaborate movement; as it moved, a stream of fire burst out like a whip. Harry ducked backwards to avoid it, and Darrow whipped it back over his head, cracking it back at Harry as swift as possible. It burnt a black scorch mark into the platform where it hit, and Harry aimed his wand carefully as Darrow coiled it back – when it next lashed out at him, he dived, while simultaneously casting a freezing charm. The flame whip turned to a solid spike of ice, which shattered instantly as it slammed into the ground.

As Darrow aimed another spell at him, Harry whipped his wand around him, and the scattered fragments of ice soared into the air, ripping towards Darrow. They smashed into him, scratching at his skin and cascading off his body, and Harry slashed his wand across, casting a beautiful slashing curse with a cry of _"Caedis"_. This time, Darrow did stop, crying out as the spell ripped his chest open. The power of the spell knocked him off his feet, and as he fell, he slammed the tip of his wand into the platform. Harry charged towards him, but was flipped into the air as what felt like an earthquake tore through the platform, and he landed on his back.

Darrow twirled his wand again, still gritting his teeth against the pain, and a volley of silver arrows arced from the tip of his wand. One hit Harry's arm, pinning him to the platform, and drawing a yell of pain from him. Darrow grinned at him viciously, revelling in the damage he was dealing.

Harry was beginning to worry. This wasn't as easy as he had thought. He had barely hurt Darrow, or so it seemed, while he had several cuts and bruises, and now an arrow through his arm. It was time to finish this. From his prone position, he aimed his wand, and barked out an incantation.

"_Cremo!_"

It was a risky manoeuvre, given the unpredictability of the spell, but it paid off: a nearly solid wall of flame rushed across the platform. On the sidelines, Crouch leapt away, swearing to himself, and Peter applauded. Darrow had to jump backwards to avoid being completely incinerated. Harry tapped the arrow with his wand, Vanishing it from his arm. It hurt like blazes, but it had to be done; he could be patched up later. Following Darrow's lead, he also smacked the platform with his wand. A plank broke off into several fragments, and another couple of spells had them Transfigured into long spikes. Harry levitated them, and sent them shooting through the flames. He was rewarded with a cry from the other side, and he extinguished the flames, leaping over the embers.

Darrow was kneeling on the floor, clutching his shoulder, which had two feet of metal sticking out of it. Harry grinned, but Darrow was still in control enough to zap him in mid-air with a spell that held him in place, suspended from thin air. Darrow staggered to his feet, looking unsteady, and aimed his wand at Harry.

"Told you I'd kick your arse, didn't I?" He was breathing heavily, and clearly in pain, but there was a vicious light in his eyes, and a manic grin on his face. "Any last words?"

"Go fuck yourself. _Solaris Diem!_"

Darrow threw his arm in front of his face as the blinding light blasted from the tip of Harry's wand, breaking the spell on him and sending him crashing to the floor. As Darrow roared in anger, still blinking away the spots from his eyes, Harry stabbed his wand into his opponent's wand arm. Darrow's robes rippled, then tore apart as the flesh beneath his arm twisted and changed, turning to stone before their eyes. Darrow screamed, but was unable to hold his wand in his suddenly rigid fingers, and it fell to the floor. Harry kicked it away, before firing a banishing hex straight into Darrow's chest. The young man cannoned backwards, and hit the end of the platform with a sickening thud, and a loud crack. He did not move.

Silence rang throughout the hall. Unquestionably, that meant Harry had won.

Harry limped over to Darrow, feeling as if every part of his body was in pain. Darrow had recovered a touch, and was blinking, moaning slightly, and struggling to move his altered arm. It was too heavy for him to even lift, and the thought of Transfiguring it back didn't even saunter across Harry's mind. Darrow looked up at him, his eyes narrowed, and he tensed, as if waiting for something. Harry squatted next to him, looking him straight in the eye.

"Guess what? I won. Told you I would, didn't I? Guess you'll know better next time, huh?"

Darrow spat blood out onto the platform and looked away, unable to meet Harry's eyes. Harry stood up, still watching Darrow.

"Mr Potter! You know the rules, Mr Darrow's fate is now in your hands. What will you do?" Crouch did not look so enthusiastic now. He was watching them both with a cold, calculating air about him. Harry looked over at Remus and Peter, their faces carefully blank, and then looked back down at Darrow.

"I've heard that mercy is the mark of a great man." He placed his wand back inside his pocket with a sigh of relief. Darrow looked up at him, his mouth dropping open slightly in shock. "Besides, I'm not a killer. Am I, Jedgar?"

"No. Apparently not." Darrow's words were solemn and heavy. For some reason, he seemed… embarrassed, that Harry had spared him. Harry ignored this though. He didn't care about it now. His part was done.

"I'm sorry for your brother's death. Sorry that it was necessary for me to defend myself and my cousin with such force. Let this go, please. I don't want this to happen again, understand?"

He noted the Ministry officials nodding approval, and gave himself a mental pat on the back. That would be released to the press within the hour. He would love to know what they made of it. He knelt down again, placing his mouth by Darrow's ear.

"Tell your master that if he wants me, he's going to have to do better than this."

Not bothering to wait for a reply, he stood up, and limped back over to Remus and Peter. Remus grinned at him, and wrapped his arm round Harry's shoulder. "I'm proud of you pup."

Harry smiled faintly. "Awesome. Let's get out of here."

* * *

Jedgar Darrow stood in front of his mirror, carefully lacing up his finest tunic. It was an intricate process at the best of times, and it was made worse on this occasion by the fact that his hand was not fully healed. Altering your collar with fingers that were partly stone was a tricky business. Lesser men would have given up, and summoned a house-elf to assist. Not Jedgar. That would be beneath him. And at the moment, he needed to conserve every scrap of self-image he could.

Honour, that was the thing. It was the driving force behind any Pureblood family, whatever they might say publically. How you presented yourself, how you acted – it was what really made them different from the Muggles. It wasn't that Purebloods were necessarily any better at magic than Muggleborns – although generally of course, they were – it was the culture. From what he had seen, Muggleborns had no sense of their place in society. The Darrows had earned their place through generations of hard work and sacrifice. They had always, _always_, stuck to their principles.

The Dark Lord had engineered this whole plot to subtly undermine both the Ministry and Harry Potter, but in all honesty, Jedgar didn't care about that. He had cared about little since his brother had been killed. What a fool Edmund had been. Jedgar hadn't been particularly bothered that he was dead, it was merely the manner of it. To have been killed in a public brawl with a fourteen year old… It had to be avenged. It could only be avenged with death, and Jedgar had intended that death to be Potter's. He always had, no matter what he said to his Master.

He knew that was why Crouch had been officiating at the duel – he had been there to keep an eye on everything, make sure that Jedgar toed the party line. He scowled at his reflection in the mirror as he fumbled with his cravat, remembering how it had felt to be watched like an incompetent child. Of course, there had been good reason for Crouch's attendance, given his own intentions, but that wasn't the point.

Then, of course, Potter had beaten him, quite soundly. Jedgar had considered that possibility, of course, but only briefly. He had been sure he would win. And in the unlikely event that he lost, he was sure of what Potter would do. The boy had a Pureblood background, didn't he? Of course, no one really knew where he had grown up, but the Potters were an old family, whatever their current fortunes. He would, at least, understand the proper procedure.

And then Potter had spared his life.

How could he? Didn't he realise what he had done? He had not just beaten him, he had shamed him. Shown that he didn't consider Darrow a threat, that he was beneath him. That he wasn't worth the effort and attention necessary to do what should have been done. Jedgar could never represent his family with honour again, not after being dismissed by a fourteen year old. Even had the old traditions not called for it, he would have felt compelled to carry out this one final act. He had gambled his reputation on the duel, and he had lost.

Darrow pulled on his over robes, brushing them down with pride. He gave himself a final examination: perfect. As it should be. He turned his back on the mirror, and marched from his room, his head held high. _There was honour in this, _he told himself. _I have failed, catastrophically, but I now redeem that failure. This is __**good**_. His parents were waiting for him in the hall, and they greeted him stiffly. He took no offense. They were disappointed in him, and rightly so. At least he would die knowing that he had restored their faith in him.

Because Jedgar Darrow was going to die.

He had accepted that fate the moment he realised that Potter had beaten him. It was appalling that Potter hadn't had the decency to do the deed himself, but that could not be helped at this stage. But he would not – could not – live his life beholden to someone else. To go on now would be living in Potter's debt. No Darrow had ever been beholden, and he was not going to start now. Quite apart from his own personal feelings on the matter, such a debt would compromise his service to the Dark Lord, which was equally unacceptable.

"Mother. Father." He bowed his head. "I have failed you, and I am sorry. I can only hope that my death will absolve me of that stain."

"It will, my son. Go onward in peace and honour," his father intoned, completing the ritual phrasing. Protocol had to be followed in these matters, after all. Jedgar felt a little thrill at the successful conclusion. He turned, and marched into the study. There was a potions vial on the desk, and he took it in his hand. It was a simple poison, and would kill him quickly. He turned round, facing his parents, who were watching the proceedings calmly. He saluted them, and they bowed.

"We will tell your friends that you died with honour Jedgar, don't worry." His mother's final farewell, a typically affectionate gesture. He smiled at her consideration.

"Thank you mother, I appreciate that. Farewell." With that, he tipped the potion down his throat. It tasted surprisingly pleasant. Placing the vial back on the desk, he took a seat, closing his eyes while he waited for the effects to kick in. After a moment, he felt his chest constrict tightly, and he nodded.

Honour was satisfied, at last.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's late, I forgot to update… Next one at the weekend, I promise.


	22. Pureblood Politics

**Chapter 19: Pureblood Politics**

Harry shoved his way through the crowd in the corridor, chasing down his quarry. Draco was annoyingly hard to find sometimes. He called out his friend's name, but Draco was engrossed in conversation with a Ravenclaw student. Getting more frustrated, Harry pushed his way through the last of the crowd and hurried over to Draco, clasping him by the shoulder. Draco looked at him irritably, and bid farewell to the Ravenclaw, before walking off, Harry trailing in his wake.

"What's so urgent? It's not like you to be so uncouth Potter. You didn't even say hello."

"Jedgar Darrow." Harry panted, still a little shaken.

Draco looked at him without interest. "Yes, what about him?"

"He killed himself!"

"And?" Draco started to look for something in his bag, and Harry stared at him, shocked.

"What do you mean, 'and'?"

Draco looked up, apparently puzzled by something. "You mean you didn't expect it? I'd have thought Dumbledore would have explained it to you. Ah, here we are…" He pulled a plump apple from his bag, and bit into it with a smile of pleasure.

"Well no, I hadn't expected it to be perfectly honest. Should I have done?" Harry responded caustically. Draco looked back at him, considering.

"Well, I suppose _you_ shouldn't, but I would have thought Dumbledore would have mentioned it. Lupin and Pettigrew are halfbloods aren't they, they might not have known, I suppose. But yeah, Dumbledore ought to have known. He's very old blood."

"Draco, please. You're talking to me, remember? I'm not clued up on this kind of thing, I've no idea what you're talking about. Try speaking in plain English, for once? Just for me?"

Draco scowled. "He challenged you to an honour duel. To the death, no less. It's a very old wizarding tradition, a bit old-fashioned these days. I don't think there have been any duels – official ones, I mean, like yours – in about two, three hundred years? Something like that, certainly. To his way of thinking, he staked his life and reputation on it. You beat him, so he had to die." He shrugged. "Bit weird, but to each their own."

Harry blinked, letting this sink in. "So… If he'd beaten me, I'd have had to take my life? Nobody explained that!"

"No," Draco explained, sighing wearily. "You're not a Pureblood, you don't have to stick to the same rules."

"Why not?"

"Because you've got Muggle blood in you, you're beneath those traditions anyway – hey, it's not my idea!" Draco defended himself, seeing Harry's look of scorn. "Don't hex the messenger! It's a Pureblood thing, and you're not Pureblood."

Harry stopped walking, grabbing Draco's cloak. "Draco. Please. Explain this to me, pretend I'm an idiot."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'pretend'? Ok, ok…" He slung his bag down by a bench, reclining casually. Harry took a seat next to him, waiting as patiently as he could. Draco seemed determined to draw it out, taking a luxurious bite out of the apple.

"Right, it's like this. To a Pureblood, the _old_ Purebloods I mean, there are two truly important things in life. Magic, and honour. We like money and power, of course, but they all come from the first two. You follow me?"

"Not really, no."

Draco sighed. "Look, there are all sorts of things that sort out how the families are 'ranked' – money, land, titles, political connections… But without magical power to back it up, that's all worthless. That's what you're ultimately judged on, in Pureblood society. Take Dumbledore: dirt poor family, no land or money to speak of, but some of the most brilliant witches and wizards of their day. His brother owns a pub or something, I think father said, and I don't think Dumbledore actually has a home, he just lives here. So on that basis, nobody would pay any attention to them. But Dumbledore walks into a room, and you listen to him, you respect him, even if you don't like him, because you can feel his magic singing at you. Get it? Technically, the Minister for Magic is the most powerful person in the country, right? In terms of authority, political power, all that kind of thing. Well, socially, that means sod all, because he's a crap wizard. The Purebloods don't respect him, because they know he can't hold a candle to them in terms of power."

"Ok…" Harry nodded carefully. "That kinda makes sense, I guess. It's screwed up, but it makes sense."

"Why's it screwed up? Seems perfectly sound to me." Draco sounded offended.

"Well, surely we should be judged on our merits, not anything else."

"Your magical power is a merit. It used to be the most important thing in the world."

"Huh?"

"Harry, have you ever even opened a History textbook? I know Binns is dull, but seriously… Wizards are old. Really, really old. We were around before democracy, before there was any real system of government, other than 'I'm stronger than you'. Magic was power. Of course, that started to go wrong, eventually. You had people like Grindelwald, or You-Know-Who, who weren't necessarily more powerful, but more ruthless. So then, we started using honour as a means of judgement. You know, 'he did that? Well, that's a brave and honourable thing, we should respect him!' Right?"

"Yeah, ok, I get that… this has what, precisely, to do with Darrow?"

"I'm getting there! You wanted to know, stop interrupting! Where was I… Oh yeah, honour. So, wizards started judging people by how honourable they were, how they behaved, not just how strong they were. Power was still the most important thing, of course, magic is always the first thing anyone pays attention to, but now it wasn't the only thing. And then, everything starts going wrong. Religions start appearing, and they start saying that wizards are servants of the devil, and other rubbish like that."

"I know that bit. Even Muggles know about that." Harry interjected.

"Good for them. I told you to shut up. So, wizards are being hunted. Power becomes something of a problem – the more powerful you are, the more likely you are to be discovered. Of course, if you are powerful, there's not a lot you can do about it, you just have to be sensible, do the right thing, not draw attention to yourself – in a sense, act honourably. So honour becomes much more important. And that's where the tradition that did for Darrow crops up.

Y'see, if you were found out, then your entire family was at risk. And if you fucked up that royally, then there had to be consequences, and not just from the Muggles. So, it was decided that anyone who screwed up that badly should – what's the phrase, commit hari-kari?"

"Wait a moment, you're saying people killed themselves because they'd made mistakes? Seriously?"

"Of course. You know about ancient Rome, right? Senators and generals falling on their swords all over the place, for all kinds of reasons. With us, it was a time when if you screwed up, you put entire communities at risk. It was a seriously dangerous time – desperate times, desperate measures. Then of course, everything mellowed out for a while, and it wasn't law any more. Some people still did it, but that's their choice. And when duelling started up again…"

Draco paused, running his hand through his hair. His apple lay beside him, forgotten.

"You have to understand Harry, to some Purebloods, tradition is _everything_. People go on about us being bigoted, anti-Muggle… Well, you know that isn't always true, but it's not that Purebloods fear Muggles exactly, it's more that they fear change. They're worried that the old traditions will die out, that generations of wizarding culture will be lost. Maybe they're right, although so long as there are people like Granger round, there isn't a subject in the world that won't be studied. Anyway, I'm getting off point… The point is, these duels were for high stakes. Not just to the death – the reputations of entire families could be made or lost in a single duel. And duels were fought to the death, and nobody, _nobody_, was spared. It just wasn't done, because of how important honour had become. In a twisted kind of way, people felt that dying was the honourable thing to do it you lost. You'd brought your family into disrepute, shown that you weren't as good as you thought.

Harry nodded silently. "So Darrow probably wasn't happy when I didn't kill him, I'm guessing?"

"Exactly. By beating him, you showed the world that he wasn't good enough to face you, despite what he thought. By sparing him, you showed the world, inadvertently or otherwise, that you didn't think he was a threat. You made it look like he wasn't important, like he was beneath you. He fought you, and you were so confident he wouldn't try again that you just left him where he was."

"That wasn't it at all! I just didn't want to kill anybody!" Harry protested. "And yeah, ok, I hammed it up a bit for the press, but so what?"

"I'm sure that's true, but that won't have been how Darrow saw it." Draco shrugged, and went back to his apple. "It's crazy, I know, but there are still some people who think that it's better to 'die honourably' than live in 'shame'. I don't see anything honourable about it myself, it looks weak to me. But hey ho."

"How can you be so blasé about this?" Harry demanded. Draco looked coolly at him.

"Because that's life, Harry. That's what happens when you get into an honour duel."

"What, you mean that if you were in one of those duels, you'd just kill yourself if you lost?"

"No, of course I wouldn't! I wouldn't get into a duel like that in the first place!" Draco snapped, clearly getting irritated with Harry's lack of understanding, a little unreasonably. "You're missing the point completely; the whole idea of getting into an honour duel – it just doesn't happen these days. It's a throwback to history. Darrow was an idiot, a fanatic, obsessed with something no one places so much value on these days. Honour is still important, of course, but nothing like that. It was just your bad luck to come up against a madman, and his bad luck to come up against someone who didn't understand what was happening."

Harry shook his head in wonderment, staring off into the distance as he contemplated all this. "I don't think I could cope with a Pureblood upbringing. It's insane."

"In some respects, yes." Draco shrugged. "Fortunately, it doesn't seem to have affected me badly."

The temptation to respond to this was nearly overwhelming, but Harry resisted, feeling it an easy target. "Are people going to criticise me for this? I'm not sure I can stand anymore articles about me…"

"Don't worry. The Purebloods will understand, and either won't care or won't blame you, and the halfbloods and Muggleborns will think he was just a sore loser who couldn't cope with the fact that he got his arse kicked by a fourteen year old. And, I've got to say, that may not be entirely wrong."

"Huh. Fair enough. So how many families are like that?"

Draco shrugged. "It's mainly the 'dark' Purebloods who stick to those old traditions these days. The Cadogans, Ash, Cartmell, Tennison, Swinburne… Nott's family, they're old blood."

"So are the Malfoy's, aren't they?"

Draco winced, as if the subject was sensitive. "Well… there's old and there's _old_, Harry. The Malfoys are old. But not that old."

"I thought you could trace your bloodline back to the Tudors?"

"Yep, and the Notts can trace it back to before the Celts got kicked out. They're really, _really_ old."

"Oh. Fair enough, that's old, I'll grant you that. Hey, maybe that's a way to get him off my back! Challenge him to a duel and beat him!"

Draco grimaced. "Don't even joke. He probably would."

"Sorry. How do you stand all this Draco? I'd be overwhelmed by it all."

Draco shrugged. "I'm not sure really. Just born to it, I guess. And don't feel bad about it, I probably wouldn't be able to cope with the pressure you're under. Fame, that reputation to maintain…"

"Really?" Harry was genuinely surprised. Draco had always seemed to harbour a desire to be famous.

"Not really, I was just trying to make you feel better. Must dash, Anastasia's waiting for me. See you later Potter."

Draco strolled off, munching on the remnants of his apple. Harry watched him go in silence, still a little overwhelmed by everything Draco had told him. It was no wonder Muggleborns and Purebloods didn't mix that much. Even that one aspect of their culture confused him, and he had a magical background. Try as he might, he could not get his head around the idea that people might prefer to die in such circumstances. But then, he supposed he didn't really have to understand it. As Draco had said, it wasn't something that affected him. It saddened him though. Darrow had seemed a bit of a prick, although Harry was hardly unbiased on the matter; that said, he did not feel Darrow deserved to die. And it seemed a cruel joke that he had died after Harry had gone out of his way not to kill him.

Harry didn't particularly believe in fate, but at times like this, it did begin to feel as if he was just playing a part, his decisions not really counting. And if he was wrong, if fate did exist, then it had a cruel sense of humour. Merlin only knew what else it might have in store for him.

* * *

Harry wandered back up to the castle in a cheerful mood, something unprecedented where news of the Tournament tasks was concerned. The final task had just been revealed to them, and it sounded a comparatively simple affair, which was nice. He could do with a break. As he headed into the entrance hall, he heard his voice being called behind him, and he slowed.

Parvati was hurrying over to him, a slightly tense look on her face, and he wondered what she wanted. She had seemed far too embarrassed to talk to him since the second task, a month ago. Maybe now the furore over the duel had died down – the news of Darrows subsequent ritual suicide had attracted little comment, as Draco had predicted – she was feeling more comfortable about being around him.

"Hey Harry." She paused, smiling at him awkwardly and playing with her hair. Now that she had attracted his attention, she clearly didn't know what to say to him. He decided to take pity on her.

"Hey. How're you getting on with McGonagall's essay? Tough question, I thought."

"Oh, yeah, really nasty. I've been in the library for four hours working on it…" She tailed off again. "I erm… I thought you were really good at Transfiguration though? She's always giving you housepoints."

"The practical, yes. The theory, not so much. So naturally, she gives me longer essays to work it out. Seems counterproductive to me, but hey, that's teachers for you, right?"

"Heh, I guess." Parvati was now looking very uncomfortable. Harry sighed.

"Parvati, is everything – "

"WouldyougotoHogsmeadewithme?" Parvati spoke so quickly that everything linked together, stumbling over the words. He couldn't understand a single word of it.

"Sorry, what was that?"

Parvati sighed, and screwed her eyes shut. "Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?"

Harry's jaw dropped. That had been the absolute last thing he was expecting. "I beg your pardon?"

She winced. "I know I haven't spoken to you much since Christmas, and I'm sorry about that, but I was just a little scared, but then I realised that was wrong, that you're not like that, and I should have known better, and I'm really sorry about it, and I think you're cute and smart and – "

"Ok."

"I'd like to make it up to… Sorry, what?"

"I said ok. I'd like that." Harry was unable to prevent a grin spreading across his face, and Parvati flushed.

"Oh! Oh, ok then… That's – that's great. That's really… great."

They stood there for a moment, beaming at each other in silence. Then Harry blinked, coming back to reality. "So, where were you headed? I was on my way back to the common room, work to do, but…"

"No, that's where I was going as well. Lavender and I are going for a picnic. You… you could come, if you like?"

Harry smiled ruefully. "That'd be nice, but if I don't get this essay done, I can't go to Hogsmeade with you, because Snape will genuinely string me up from the Astronomy tower."

She chuckled. "Well, we can't have that, can we?"

"I'd prefer to avoid it, yeah."

After another moments pause, they both set off up the grand staircase, talking quietly to each other. It was fun, and Harry found himself looking back at the time since the Yule Ball with regret. He could have had this for months, if it hadn't been for that stupid article. When they reached the common room, Parvati departed for her dorm, looking back over her shoulder at him, shyly. He grinned at her and waved, before heading over to sink into a chair with Ron and Neville. Ron looked up at his arrival from the Quidditch magazine he was flicking through.

"Where've you been? Have you been with Dumbledore all this time? What'd he want anyway?"

"What? Oh, they were just telling us what the third task will be. Didn't take long."

"Yeah? Anything good? And where've you been if it didn't take long?"

Harry's lips twitched back into a smile. "With Parvati."

Ron blinked, and Neville sat up, looking over at his friend. "What do you mean?"

"She asked me to go to Hogsmeade with her next week."

"What, like a date?"

"Yes Nev, a date. I'm going on a date," Harry repeated it, as if he couldn't quite believe it himself.

Neville grinned. "That's great! I hope you have a brilliant time!"

"Thanks mate. I'll do my utmost, don't worry."

Ron looked dubious. "I thought she'd been avoiding you since the article was published…"

Harry shrugged. The thought had occurred to him, but what the hell. Everyone made mistakes. "She has, but she says she wants to make it up to me."

"That's nice of her. What else does she say?"

Harry smirked proudly at him. "If you must know, she says I'm cute and smart."

Ron quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. Harry looked at him questioningly. Ron shrugged. "Well, smart I can accept, but cute? You need to lend her your glasses mate."

"Oi!" Harry protested, as Neville snorted with laughter. Ron grinned at them both.

"I'm only teasing, only teasing… Seriously though, nice one. It has to be said, she's gorgeous."

"She is indeed. Fun as well, we had a really good chat on the way up here." Silence fell for a few moments, as Ron returned to his magazine and Harry assembled his things for the forthcoming essay slog. He had a nasty feeling he was going to be up all night with this one. Neville suddenly looked up again.

"Hang on, you said that you knew about the third task? Come on, details!"

"Oh, yeah! Well, it's not till next term, but they want to give us time to practice. Basically, we need to retrieve the Triwizard Cup. First person to grab it wins the Tournament."

"Nice," Ron nodded approvingly. "Definitely easier than the last two – well, I say that. What's the catch?"

"It's going to be in the middle of the Forbidden Forest," Harry responded calmly. Ron and Neville looked at each other.

"Good luck mate – you'll need it!"


	23. The Final Task

**Chapter 20: The Final Task**

Hogsmeade was, Harry had decided, a wonderful place. He'd always enjoyed it, but it was surprising how much there was to do in the village when you were there on a date. The afternoon with Parvati had flown by. There had been a minor difficulty when she had taken him to Madame Puddifoot's, the small café being a little twee for his tastes, but once he started to concentrate on Parvati, instead of his surroundings, that problem had vanished – although if he could help it, they would be finding other places to hang out together.

Term turned into Easter, and Harry returned to Privet Drive in a much better mood than he had been at Christmas, and it lasted right up until Dudley found out he had a girlfriend. His cousin's teasing was good natured, but the joke started to wear thin after a while. He only had to put up with it for a few weeks though, and then he was back at Hogwarts, still pouring over books in his spare time, researching useful spells for the final.

Despite his previous excursions into the forest, he didn't really know what he might find in there. The rumours about werewolves had always seemed much exaggerated to him, and even if they were living there, Remus had confirmed that the final was not at the full moon. Other than that, the only things he knew for sure lived in there were centaurs and unicorns, which weren't exactly mortal threats. Given the tournament so far though, he felt it better to be safe than sorry.

As term crawled slowly towards the final task, excitement began to bubble over. Opinion seemed to have swung back towards him, after the murder accusations had put a black mark against his name. After the second task, Viktor had been left in the lead by one point, with Harry in second place. Cedric and Fleur were tied in third, a couple of points behind. It was a close contest, and the entire student body seemed inflated with anticipation over the final. Even Harry, despite his misgivings, would admit to looking forward to it. A small, rather shy part of him would admit that the thought of competing in front of his girlfriend added an extra frisson of excitement to proceedings.

He only hoped that she'd be proud of him by the end.

* * *

The cheers of the crowd rang deafeningly around the stands, spread around the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They were all illuminated by huge torches, the flames flickering in the wind. Harry stood at the entrance to the champions tent, his friends gathered around him, giving him last minute advice and best wishes.

"And remember Harry, just raise your wand and shout _periculum _if you get into trouble, all right? Don't get stupid!"

Harry rolled his eyes fondly. "I'll be fine Hermione, don't worry. I've been practising these spells for months, I'll remember them. And when do I ever get stupid?"

"So many answers…" Parvati leaned in and kissed his cheek affectionately. "Good luck Harry. I'll be waiting for you at the end!"

"Glad to hear it," Harry responded with a smile, pulling her back for a proper kiss. The others shifted awkwardly, looking away. Ron pretended to gag, and Hermione smacked him round the head. After a moment, Parvati pulled away, and headed off to her seat with a smile and a wave. The others followed swiftly afterwards, leaving Harry to change into his robes for the task.

Krum was lounging around, looking quietly confident. Harry greeted him with a smile, and Krum returned a casual salute. Cedric and Fleur were nowhere to be seen, although presumably they would arrive shortly. Sure enough, Fleur wandered in a few minutes later, already dressed in her official robes, and Cedric was close behind. Harry could hear him talking to Cho outside the tent. They killed time with a few pleasantries; according to Krum, Karkaroff was not in the best of states, for some reason. He had been horribly stressed all day, and none of them knew why. After a few minutes, Bagman arrived, bringing with him four badges, which they pinned to their robes. They served as portkeys; once the cup had been retrieved, the badges would activate, bringing the champions back to the stands.

The noise of the crowd had died down, but when the champions entered, the cheers started up again, deafening Harry. He couldn't help but grin, actually enjoying the adulation. It was a strange feeling, being the object of so much enthusiasm. He resolved to make the most of it while he could. Bagman stood up, to deliver his explanation to the crowd. Harry didn't bother to listen, choosing instead to scan the crowd. The first thing he saw were giant screens erected opposite the stands, and he realised that the task would be relayed to these somehow, showing the crowd what was happening. He picked out his friends in the stand, and blushed when Parvati blew him a kiss. Fleur smirked at him, and he turned away, feigning aloofness. His redirected gaze landed on the judges table. Krum was right, Karkaroff really did look a mess. He saw Harry looking at him, and turned away quickly.

Pushing it to the back of his mind, Harry turned back to Bagman. The minister was now leading Krum over to a gap in the trees – he would be entering the forest first, since he was ahead of the others. Harry would be going in next, a few minutes later. He watched Krum disappear into the gloom, his wand lit and raised in front of him. Bagman wandered back over to the champions, taking Harry by the shoulder with a smile.

"Your turn now Harry! Looking forward to it, eh?"

Harry shrugged. "It should be alright, sir, I suppose. Can't be any worse than what we've already seen been through, right?"

"That's the spirit m'boy! Best of luck to you, and off you go!"

Harry made his way into the forest, using a different entrance. He was sure that there had only been one path the last time he was in, but presumably the organisers had put extras in to ensure variety for the champions. He raised his wand, pointing it slightly ahead of him, and muttered quietly.

"_Lumos mobilia!_" The useful little spell conjured a little ball of light, hovering a couple of paces in front of him. It would keep his path lit whilst leaving his wand free for other spells.

He wandered down the path, aware that he would probably have to leave it eventually. The light of the spell was not great, flickering gently as it floated along. It lit the trees eerily, casting long shadows in the twilight. The roar of the crowd followed him down the path, but a few paces in, it suddenly disappeared, as if he had walked past a magical barrier. It could just have been the effect of the forest. Harry could barely hear the crunch of his feet on the ground – the gloom seemed to swallow sound.

The path petered out a few metres into the forest. Harry halted, performing the pointing charm. His wand span in his palm, and pointed off into the forest, to his right. He looked out into the trees, and did his best to swallow his nerves. For all his confidence beforehand, the forest was not a welcoming place. However, he had little choice. Squaring up to the task, he set off away from the path, the little ball of light guiding his steps.

As he picked his way through the overgrown forest, he began to pick up on little sounds. Things rustling in the tree tops, chirruping from the bushes. There was a pervading sense of being watched, and he didn't like it. He kept darting his eyes from side to side, well aware of what had happened the first time he took a walk in the forest. There was no sign of the sinister dark mist, and he was sure that suitable precautions had been taken, but he kept his guard up.

Just as he was beginning to feel that the forest was too quiet, his foot connected with something, causing him to stumble. He whirled round, trying to find what he had tripped on. There was something on the floor, and he bent down towards it. It looked like a nest. He poked it with his wand, and a cloud of fluttering _things_ burst out, buzzing round his face, chattering angrily and clawing at him. He fell back, landing on the floor, and swore as he felt several tiny little hands try and prise his wand away. He waved his arms, brushing them away from him, and jumped to his feet. One of the things landed on his glasses, gibbering at him through the lenses, and he relaxed slightly. Pixies. Not a problem.

Then he realised that there were more than several. There must have been nearly a hundred of them.

He yelled in surprise as dozens of them grabbed his collar, lifting him into the air and throwing him away. He hit the ground with a thud, and slashed his wand around, trying to jinx them away. They were too small though, and too fast, and dodged his spells with alarming ease. He yelled again as they started to bite into him, tiny little nips that he would barely have noticed were it not for their numbers. He ran, charging through a bush, the thick branches dislodging them from his robes and skin, but they followed him relentlessly, furious over the destruction of their nest. He skidded to a halt, turning to face them, and began to twirl his wand around his body.

"_Zephyris!_"

As his wand moved, air began to billow from the tip, and the pixies were buffeted to a halt, their wings beating furiously against the draft directed against them. Harry pushed more magic into the spell, and as the wind became stronger, the pixies were pushed backwards. A final twitch of magic, and they were blown backwards as if they had been hit by a whirlwind, their high pitched voices echoing around the forest. Harry set off at a jog before they could recover, putting them as far behind him as he could.

They did not follow, and soon he had to slow to walking again. The ground was too treacherous underfoot, with tree roots jutting out, just waiting to catch his feet. He kept walking, aware that he had been in the forest for what seemed like a very long time. A patch of marshland made him pause, as a strange light in the mist seemed to call to him. After a moment's hesitation, he carried on along his path, ignoring the light, tales of hinkypunks in his mind. As the light faded behind him, he shivered, sure he could hear a disappointed cry behind him.

He trudged on and on, beginning to tire. Looking up at the sky, he realised he could not see anything through the thick canopy of branches. He checked his watch, and was horrified to see that he had been walking through the forest for nearly an hour. Clearly, none of the others had found the cup yet. How long was it going to take? He stopped for a moment, recasting the point charm. His wand spun, and he altered his direction slightly.

The forest was getting more disturbing the further into it he went. There were flashes of movement to his sides, and he half saw ugly, leering faces disappearing when he turned. Wood goblins, he suspected, or possibly red caps. One thing was certain, he would never be coming in here again if he could help it. Not on his own, at least. Even the trees looked intimidating now. They were hanging lower and lower, persistently brushing against his head and shoulders. If he didn't know better, he would have been convinced they were alive, and trying to ensnare him.

Further into the forest, and now there were no leaves on the trees. A closer look revealed that the trees were dead, and appeared to be pockmarked with spell impact craters. Had there been a battle here in the past? Maybe an assault on Hogwarts by Voldemort, during the war. Or a much older conflict. The forest had been around nearly as long as Hogwarts itself, although he would have thought even magical trees would have decayed by now. He was no herbologist though… Maybe he would ask Neville after the task.

The wind changed, blowing a cool breeze into his face, and he sighed in relief. Then, all of a sudden, he gagged. A foul stench was being wafted towards him, a strangely familiar smell. He raised his wand, and advanced cautiously. The smell grew stronger, and there was a loud grunting. The trees parted, and Harry ducked back, swearing mentally to himself, trying to make as little noise as possible. He was very lucky that the wind had changed, because the troll in the clearing was enormous. He recast the point charm, praying, and sighed when it pointed straight on. He looked around, trying to work out if he would be able to go around it.

"_I'd recommend it. You're not going to fight that thing without getting badly hurt._"

"Thanks for your support, but I've got to say, I agree…"

Harry headed off the path he had been following, picking his way through the low hanging branches. He could see the troll through the branches; it was sitting in the middle of the clearing, devouring some unidentifiable creature. Blood was dripping down its chin, and Harry's gaze was drawn irresistibly to the massive fangs, and the long, ugly claws. He winced, and looked away as quickly as he could.

"_Chicken._"

"That thing could swallow me without even chewing!"

"_Yeah, but you've seen worse._"

Harry shook his head, trying to ignore Titus. The temperamental spirit was clearly in a bad mood tonight. However, distracted, he stepped on a fallen branch. The dry, dead wood snapped loudly under his feet, and he froze. He slowly turned his head to look through the trees at the troll.

It had looked up from its meal, and was staring in Harry's direction. It threw the bloody meat aside, and stood up, dragging a tree trunk with it. Harry remained very still, barely breathing. The troll breathed deeply, inhaling the scents from the forest around it. The little beady eyes narrowed, and it inhaled again. Harry watched it carefully. Had it smelt him?

The troll roared, and swung its makeshift club wildly. Harry ducked, raising his arms above his head to shelter himself as the dead trees around him were shattered into kindling.

Yes, it had smelt him.

It roared again, and raised the club above its head. Harry dived out of the way as the troll slammed the tree trunk into the ground where he had been standing. The ground shook, and he stumbled over his own feet, falling to the ground. The troll stepped slowly towards him, reaching out with one enormous hand, and Harry aimed his wand carefully.

"_Caedis!_"

The troll recoiled, screaming in pain as the spell cut through its flesh. A finger fell to the ground, and it roared its defiance to the sky. It swung the club again, one handed, and Harry ducked beneath it. His hair billowed in the wind as it swept past him. He jumped to his feet, and fired off a blasting hex at the troll. It roared, the spell scorching the flesh on its stomach, but it didn't seem to cause it much pain. It whipped the club around, making Harry duck, but before he could move again, the troll had backhanded him, hard. He flew across the clearing, and hit a tree with a thud. His arm was agonising, and he knew it was broken. Clutching his wounded arm to his body, Harry backed away, his wand raised and pointing at the troll. It watched him, its fangs bared and dripping with drool.

There was a pregnant pause.

The troll roared again, and slammed the tree trunk at Harry. He whipped his wand up, calling out as he did so: "_Carpe!_"

The club was snatched into a vice like grip, and Harry rolled out of the way, dragging his wand away from the club. Still caught in the magical grip, it was wrenched from the troll's paw. Harry ducked as it flipped over his head, and then swung his wand around, catapulting the tree trunk at the troll. It stood stock still, confused by this turn of events, and the trunk smacked it straight in the face. It fell, ponderously, shaking the ground as it hit. It didn't get up.

Harry stood still for a moment, watching it carefully. Then he sank to the floor, sighing in relief. His arm hurt like blazes, but a swift numbing charm dealt with it for the moment, and another charm bound it in a splint. He had been lucky.

"_Very lucky. I'm impressed. Although you might want to think about learning a couple of healing spells, numbing it isn't much good in the long run._"

"I'll bear that in mind. It'll do for now though. There can't be much more of this, can there?"

"_Merlin knows. This forest looks like it goes on for miles. The cup could be anywhere._"

"Thank you Titus, inspiring as always…"

He climbed to his feet, and set off again, leaving the troll behind him. He began to jog, the brisk pace keeping his mind from panic. Was nobody near the cup yet? He had been in the forest about an hour and a half now, Krum slightly longer, and Cedric and Fleur slightly less. Were they ok? Had they bumped into anything? He could only hope they were coping.

He kept up the pace for another few minutes, brushing through branches and vaulting fallen trees. The little ball of light flew always ahead of him, illuminating his path, and suddenly, its light shone on an actual path. Harry drew to a halt, examining it. It was old, overgrown. Wherever it had led in the past, it was abandoned now. Or mostly abandoned, perhaps. Closer examination revealed large footprints in the mud, and Harry quickly realised that only one person could have left footprints that large. Hagrid. Could the groundskeeper have been in charge of hiding the cup? After all, he knew the forest better than anyone. A quick point spell showed that following the path was indeed the wisest course of action, and he set off with a grin, confident that he would actually get to the cup first now.

The path wound along for nearly a mile, becoming steadily more overgrown, but still clear enough to follow. The trees hemmed closer in on either side now, and Harry could no longer run through the forest, having to settle for a slower pace. He brushed against one of the trees as he moved, and halted, puzzled. His robes had stuck to it. He pulled them, and it yanked free with a tearing noise. He moved his wand, bringing the light closer to the tree.

Was that a spider's web?

"Harry, look out!"

Harry whirled at the sound of Cedric's voice, and screamed at the sight of an enormous spider bearing down on him. He dived away, and the spider landed on the tree, scuttling up the web to the tree top. He moved away from the tree, spinning and aiming his wand, trying to find the spider.

"Cedric! Where are you?"

"I'm up here! In the web, get me out!"

Harry looked up, and sure enough, Cedric was dangling above the path, wrapped in a thick web. Harry aimed his wand to cut him loose, but a scuttling sound behind him made him whirl around.

"Where is it? Can you see it?"

"Harry, there's a whole sodding nest of them! Just get me out of here!"

A chill ran down Harry's spine. A nest?

"_Acromantula. Very dangerous, get out. Now._"

"I'm not leaving Cedric! _Flagrate!_" Harry twirled his wand around him, and fire spat out, forming a blazing ring around him. There was a horrible screech, and he saw a spider leap backwards, singed by the flames. He looked up, and aimed his wand just above Cedric's head. "Cedric, keep very still, alright? _Diffindo!_"

The web snapped, and Cedric fell out of it, dropping to the ground at speed. He whipped his wand, and he slowed down, as if falling through treacle rather than air. He landed lightly on his feet, and looked round admiringly.

"Nice job Potter. Come on, this way!"

He set off, but Harry grabbed his arm, staring incredulously at him. "Are you insane? That's _towards_ the spider nest, we want to go away from it, surely?"

"Not really, no. The cup's right in the middle of it." Cedric spoke calmly, but his eyes told a different story.

Harry paused, absorbing this. "Of course it is. Where else could they put it? Merlin…"

"The only way we can get out of here is with the cup, so we need to go forward. Come on, _finite!_"

Harry yelped as the ring of fire vanished, and Cedric charged forward, his wand flashing as he moved. He seemed to be casting randomly, but one of his spells connected, and a spider was thrown backwards with a screech. Harry shook his head, swearing vigorously, and ran after the Hufflepuff, modifying a spell in his head as he did so.

"_Solaris diem mobilia!_"

A much brighter ball of light burst from his wand, shooting into the air and casting light onto a horrific scene. The trees around him were literally crawling with the acromantula, their pincers snapping and the webs glistening on the trees. Harry's eyes widened in terror, and he ran forward, casting his own spells around him, blasting spiders away from him. A slashing hex to his right cut a spider completely in two, and the spiders following it paused, devouring their fallen brother. Something whipped past his face, and he staggered, pain spreading through his cheek. He slashed his wand in the direction of the attack, crying out _"Flagrate!_" once more, and the line of fire ripped through a couple of spiders. Blood dripped down his cheek as he ran after Cedric, who had now halted, too busy blasting spiders away to move. Harry dashed to his side, adding his own spells to the mix. He yelled to the Hufflepuff.

"Where's the cup?"

"It's up – _depulso!_ – it's up there!" Cedric waved his free arm vaguely, concentrating on the vast quantities of spiders converging on them. Harry followed his arm, and spotted the cup perched high above them on a ledge. The ground in between the two champions and the cup was covered in spiders, and Harry had to wonder where they had all come from. He took a swift moment to aim his wand.

"_Accio!_" The cup did not move, and Cedric shook his head.

"Already tried it, it's warded. We're going to have to grab it ourselves."

"Shit. All right, you cover me, I'll grab it, ok?" He made a start, but Cedric halted him.

"What? No way Potter, that cup is mine!"

"Are you insane?" Harry stared at him. "We're about to be fucking eaten, who cares who wins?"

"I do. _Bombardia!_" The curse blew up in the face of several oncoming spiders, and then Cedric ran. Harry cursed, and swung his wand, drawing a line of fire between them and the spiders behind them. That left only the several dozen between them and the cup. He ran after Cedric.

The Hufflepuff was cursing spiders left and right, but whether because of ethics or ignorance, his spells were largely non fatal. The spiders he repelled just kept coming back. Harry shot a spell over Cedric's shoulder, and a spider disappeared in a ball of flame. The older champion didn't pause, jumping at the rock wall up to the cup. He began climbing, and the spiders climbed after him.

"_Sagitto maxima!_" Harry swept his wand in a shoulder high line, and a hail of arrows shot from the tip of his wand. Several spiders drew back, screeching, and Harry dashed towards the wall himself. He whirled round, so his back was to the wall, and drew another line of fire across the ground, manipulating the flames so they rose higher, in an attempt to stop the spiders jumping over it. Then he started to climb.

Cedric looked down, and scowled at him, before climbing faster and faster. He placed his hand on a branch growing from the wall, and pulled himself up onto it. It fell away, Cedric still clinging to it, and he slid down it, dangerously close to the roaring flames. He yelled over to Harry.

"Potter! Potter, give me a hand!"

Harry looked over at him, down at the spiders, still advancing, then up at the cup. He looked between them again, and Cedric slid a little further down the branch.

"Potter!"

Harry made his decision. "_Ascendeo!_" The spell pulled him up through the air, and he reached out as he flew, grabbing the cup by its handle. He and Cedric both vanished with a pop, leaving only flames and dead spiders behind them.

* * *

Harry hit the ground with a thud, rolling as he landed. He heard Cedric swear as he hit the ground as well, and he looked up blearily.

The crowd was cheering insanely, and Fleur and Viktor had both appeared a short distance away. Viktor was grappling with something; Harry identified it as a gytrash, just as Viktor shot a bolt of light through it. The wispy dog vanished with a howl, and Viktor leapt to his feet. He looked round, realising where he was, and swore, throwing his wand to the floor.

"And the champions have returned! An epic conclusion to this magnificent tournament, I'm sure you'll agree ladies and gentlemen. And our winner – Harry James Potter!"

Harry felt a grin break out on his face, and he thrust his arm up into the air, waving the cup for the audience to see. A great cheer went up, gradually forming into a repetition of 'Potter! Potter! Potter!' Cedric climbed to his feet, a rueful smile on his face, and walked over to him, holding out his hand.

"Nice one Harry. Got to admit, you deserve it, you really do."

Harry grinned at him, and shook his hand. "Couldn't have done it without you though Cedric. I'd have been in real trouble against those spiders if you hadn't been there to help."

Cedric looked sceptical. "I'm not convinced, but thanks anyway. I'd watch out though, Krum doesn't look happy."

Harry looked round. It was true, the Bulgarian did look rather sullen. Harry supposed that he wasn't used to losing. Fleur strolled over to him with a smile on her face, and bent over to kiss him on the cheeks.

"Well done 'Arry, you were magnificent." She laughed as he blushed a deep red. The celebrations were interrupted by the arrival of Madame Pomfrey, who bustled over armed with potions and bandages.

"Come on Potter, let's get those wounds seen to. Broken arm, yes? And scratch on the face – here," She slapped some thick orange paste onto his cheek, and his skin burned as it did its job. A second later, and it had melted into his skin, and the cut was healed. A quick tap of her wand, and the bone in his arm was healed. He winced as it snapped back into place. She moved onto the others, who all had various superficial injuries.

Harry moved away, wandering over to the stands to greet his friends. Dumbledore and the other judges walked towards him, Dumbledore smiling brightly at him and clapping him on the back in congratulations. Remus and Peter were waiting at the gate, clapping proudly and cheering his name. As the judges passed, going to congratulate the other champions, Karkaroff paused, looking at Harry.

"Well done Mr Potter. A mutual friend asked me to give you this."

He tossed something at Harry, and his seeker's reflexes took over, snatching it from the air without thinking. He heard Remus yelling at him, just as he vanished, for the second time that night.

* * *

Remus had started to run as soon as Karkaroff had thrown the object. As Harry vanished, he drew his wand, wrapping Karkaroff in thick ropes. He kicked the Durmstrang headmaster to the floor, and grabbed him by the neck.

"Where is he? Where did you send him you bastard?"

"I cannot say, I had no choice, I had to do it!"

"What do you mean you can't say? Of course you can, tell me!" He drew his hand back, punching Karkaroff in the face. Blood spurted from the man's nose. He drew his arm back for another punch, but someone grabbed his wrist. Peter was standing behind him, cold anger in his face.

"He won't be able to talk, they'll have made sure of it. That's why he's not in Azkaban, remember? He talked the last time."

Remus looked at him, and then dropped Karkaroff. The man started babbling gratitude, and Peter kicked him in the face. "I didn't say you had to stop beating him though. Feel free."

"Remus, Peter, what happened?" Dumbledore arrived at a run.

"Karkaroff. He slipped Harry a portkey, Merlin knows where he is now! We need to find him Albus, quickly."

"We will Remus, don't worry." Dumbledore spoke reassuringly, but his words were drowned out by an explosion.

Fire ripped through the spectator stands, and the silence from the crowd turned to screams. Panicking students fled in every direction, and Dumbledore whirled round, his wand raised. His spell extinguished the flames within seconds, and a second stabilised the damage to the stands. He stayed where he was, alert to any movement.

"Peter, Remus, spread out. Find out what's happening, and be careful!"

* * *

Parvati screamed shrilly as Harry disappeared. Neville had to wonder why his reaction wasn't similar, but then, they all had rather more experience of these matters. He stood up sharply, turning to Hermione. "Make sure she's ok, I'm going to see what's happening, ok?"

Hermione nodded, and he made his way out of the stands hurriedly. He was running round the back of the stands when he saw two shadowy figures behind the furthest stand. He halted, watching them curiously, and was appalled when the stand exploded, bursting into flames. Screams rang round, and the figures turned away.

It was at that point that they spotted him.

Neville tensed up, painfully aware that he was in no shape to fight them. At that moment, he really, really wished he had paid attention to everything Harry had passed on. He drew his wand regardless, unwilling to flee.

One of the figures turned, looking at the other. "Get out of here, I can deal with this. Let them know I'll be late, ok?"

The other figure nodded, and turned and ran off in the direction of the main gates. The man who had spoken turned back to Neville, and walked forward, drawing his wand casually. As the light fell on him, it revealed a mask, silver with strange markings, covering his face. Neville watched him carefully, and the man reached up, pulling the mask aside and placing it inside his robes.

Sirius Black.

Neville's grip tightened on his wand, and he stepped forward. There was no way he was going to run now. Sirius sneered at him. "Last chance to run Neville… You're interfering, and that's not what good boys do, is it?"

"I'm not going to let you leave."

"Like you can stop me. Well, your choice. We weren't going to try and kill anyone specifically, but now…"

He flicked his wand, and a spell flew across at Neville. He hastily whipped his wand, trying to block it. He was amazed to find that he had succeeded. Sirius chuckled. "Better than I was expecting! Let's go again, shall we?"

Another curse, and Neville cast another _haurio_ charm. The spell rang against the purple light, but it was blocked. Neville couldn't help but grin. He knew he had no chance of beating Sirius, but if he could hold him off…

Sirius sighed theatrically. "This is most enjoyable Neville, but I'm afraid I do have places to be, and you're starting to get on my nerves. _Avada Kedavra!_"

Neville ducked, knowing he couldn't block it. He didn't even hear the follow up spell. It ripped through him, tearing his chest open. He couldn't even scream. He sank to his knees, his wand falling from his suddenly limp fingers. He looked down at his ruined chest, shock on his face, and raised his hand, touching it to his wound as if he couldn't believe it was there. His fingers came away stained with blood. He looked up blankly as Sirius approached, a vicious smile on his face.

"Bad luck sonny…" He gently pushed Neville backwards, and he landed on his back. Sirius raised his wand to the sky. "_Morsmordre!_"

Neville mouthed his mouth soundlessly, and Sirius looked down at him. "See you later kid."

He shifted into his Animagus form, and for a moment, Neville could hear the dog's paws as he bounded away. He looked up at the stars, obscured by the Dark Mark, and he smiled, briefly.

Then his eyes dimmed, forever.


	24. The Graveyard

**Chapter 21: The Graveyard**

Harry hit the ground with a thud, and instantly rolled, sure that spells would be following swiftly. None were forthcoming, and he leapt into a crouch, aiming his wand around him. There was no-one there. He quickly scanned his surroundings, and realised that he was in a graveyard. Lovely. He stood up, still alert for any movement, and moved over to a large gravestone, taking cover behind it. He looked around carefully, but still nothing. He couldn't even hear anything suspicious. He stood very still, trying to work out what to do next. Getting back to Hogwarts was obviously his priority, but how?

"_The portkey that got you here would seem the obvious solution…"_

Titus was right, but where was it? He looked out at the patch of ground where he had landed. There! Something glistened in the early moonlight, and he aimed his wand.

"_Accio portkey!_"

The portkey twitched, but before it could move far, another spell hit it, and it was destroyed in a flash of light. Harry whirled round, trying to find the caster. A bush rustled to his right, and he aimed his wand over at it. Nothing. His eyes focused on the bush, he made a cautious movement.

From behind him, a spell smashed into the grave he was hiding behind, showering him with chips of stone. He spun round, snapping off a slashing hex with a small shout. Again, there was no one there. They were using disillusionment charms, or invisibility cloaks, they had to be. And there had to be more than one of them, unless they were really, really good at Apparation. He ducked low, and began to move between gravestones. Crouching behind one, he gathered himself to run to the next, but it exploded before he could move, and he ducked back into cover. The explosion was followed with a low chuckle. Harry scowled.

"Come out you cowards! Stop hiding!"

There was no response. Harry tensed up, then threw himself out of cover, rolling over and into a crouched run. A spell shot over his head, hitting the ground with a disturbing hiss. He waved his wand, calling out a freezing jinx, and he was amazingly rewarded with a cry of irritation. He slowed, spinning to aim in the direction he had cast, and peppered the area with spells. There was another cry, and a flicker in the air – magic hitting a disillusionment charm. He aimed at the figure again, but before he could cast, it had shifted, dissolving into a familiar black mist.

The mist spiralled up into the air, then shot straight at him. Harry sent a spell winging at it, but the column of mist weaved around it, before whirling around him, blinding, deafening. He was snatched from the ground, and carried off, a deep voice cackling at him. A second later, he was thrown from the mist, and once more, he hit the ground, hard. He looked up blearily, watching the mist hit the floor, coalescing into a man, who stood over him, his wand out and ready. A second column of mist appeared, shifting into a woman. She resembled the man closely – his sister, presumably. That made them the Carrows. Hardly a great threat, but crazy. Harry eyed them carefully, watching to see if they would attack again. When they did not, he went to draw his wand – but it wasn't there. The brother sniggered, and held up Harry's wand. He had clearly taken it when Harry had been trapped in the mist. Aside from this, they said nothing, and made no move to attack him.

Realising that, for whatever reason, he had been granted a reprieve, Harry scanned his surroundings once more. They were still in the graveyard, although a different part of it altogether. They were in a large clear patch, the only grave visible being a large tombstone, with an enormous statue of a scythe wielding angel on top of it. Harry frowned at that. It didn't look like a wizarding graveyard, so where was he? Next to the tombstone, there was a massive cauldron, bubbling over a fire. It looked big enough for a grown man to sit in.

He shifted where he sat, and grimaced. The ground was wet, and he went to stand. The Carrows instantly swished their wands, knocking him off his feet with a bang. He groaned, ignoring their cackling, and pushed himself back into a sitting position. "I was only going to stand up…"

"Well, we don't want yer to, do we Alecto?"

The woman leered in response. "No brother, I like him fine where he is… All ready for the Master!"

Harry felt himself tense up as the Death Eater spoke. The Master could mean only one thing… Voldemort was here.

"Welcome, little hero! Welcome to Little Hangleton!"

Harry turned at the painfully familiar voice: Evan Rosier stood, illuminated by the fire, carrying a bundle of something in his arms. The lunatic danced towards them, never losing his grip on the bundle, and he landed in front of Harry, grinning madly down at him. "Why so quiet, hero? No witty comeback, no defiant yell? Very disappointing Harry, tsk tsk… Your godfather would be _so _ashamed, were he here…"

Harry snarled, going for his wand, but there was a sudden flash of pain across his scar, and he fell backwards, clutching his head. It was excruciating, like someone was hammering nails through his head, and he looked up at Rosier through narrowed eyes. The Death Eater was laughing loudly, his head thrown back.

"Enough, Evan."

Rosier fell silent instantly, bowing his head in obedience. The voice seemed to have come from the bundle, and Harry looked at it in horror. Something shifted inside it, and the cloth around it fell away slightly, revealing a truly foul creature. Black, scaly skin, red eyes, and fangs.

The Dark Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord hissed malevolently, his eyes baleful. "Welcome to my home, Potter. So glad you could join me on this most… _prestigious_ occasion. One might say you're my guest of honour!"

Harry did not respond, and Voldemort laughed in high tones. "So like your father Harry. So defiant – so stupid…"

"My father was not stupid," Harry responded hotly, and Rosier backhanded him across the face. Harry fell backwards, and looked up in shock, clutching his cheek. Rosier glared down at him; Harry had never seen him so serious.

"You will not speak unless given permission Potter – do you understand?"

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving Rosier's. Voldemort laughed again. "Evan, no need to be so rough with the boy… He knows his place, I'm sure, don't you Harry? Amycus, Alecto! Any sign of the others?"

Amycus hurried forward, bowing down extravagantly. "Not yet, my Lord. They should be here any – "

There was a crack, and a tall, lanky figure in black robes and a silver mask appeared. He bounded over to the group, removing his mask as he did so. Harry was astonished to see Barty Crouch junior, the man who had officiated at the duel, standing there with a wide grin.

"You? What are you doing here?"

Rosier hit him again, and Crouch sniggered. "I'm a spy lackbrain, isn't it obvious?"

"Did you think your godfather was my only spy, Potter? I have eyes and ears everywhere, always watching, always listening… You'd be amazed at the places I can access, I assure you." Voldemort's voice was coldly arrogant.

Harry spat out some blood, and looked up at the gathered Death Eaters with hatred. Crouch smirked at him, and turned back to his Master. "My apologies for my tardiness my Lord, we ran into an interloper – Sirius stayed behind to deal with him, he should be here any moment."

"Excellent…" Voldemort hissed softly. "Rosier, Crouch, prepare the cauldron. Amycus – prepare our guest for the festivities…"

Rosier reverently placed the bundle on the floor, the Dark Lord's eyes never leaving Harry's. His scar still burned, but he willed himself to ignore it, determined not to show any weakness in front of his enemies. Amycus Carrow moved over, grabbing Harry's robes and dragging him along. He threw him down against the statue of the angel, and flicked his wand casually. Harry's arms were yanked into the air, pinned together by some invisible force, and he was pinned to the statue.

Panic began to set in, and he started to struggle, but whatever Carrow had done to him, he could not break free. The Death Eater laughed, watching his efforts with sadistic glee for a moment, before drawing a knife from his robes. Harry instantly froze, watching the blade carefully. Carrow walked over to him slowly, shifting the knife back and forth, giggling as Harry's gaze followed it as if he was hypnotized. He reached out with his other arm, and ripped Harry's robes open roughly, exposing his chest. Harry shivered as the night air hit his chest. Carrow leaned in, watching him intently for a long moment.

Then he slashed the knife across Harry's chest, ripping an ugly wound across his ribs.

His resolve broke, and Harry howled in pain. Rosier looked up from his work at the cauldron, a mad gleam in his eyes, and he stared at Harry hungrily. Carrow drew the knife back, and moved away, taking up a position by Harry's side. Voldemort looked up at Harry, his smile exposing his evil looking fangs.

"Do you know what is happening tonight, Potter? You should be honoured that I chose you, that I wanted you here. It is, after all, a family reunion…"

Harry frowned in confusion, and Voldemort smiled again. "Give the others a hand Carrow. I would speak to Potter…"

Carrow bowed, and walked off, leaving them alone. Voldemort gestured around the graveyard. "The village of Little Hangleton, home to my father and his family. My Muggle father." He paused, watching Harry carefully. "You don't seem surprised Harry… But of course, your godfather did explain. That run-in with my old diary. How curious that must have been for you… He abandoned my mother, Harry. He was scared – no, disgusted by the fact that she was a witch, and that I was magical. Can you imagine it, Harry? Rejection, at such an early age? Of course, I knew nothing of this for many years – but once I discovered the truth about my father, I tracked him down and… expressed my displeasure, shall we say."

"You killed him." Harry said, bluntly.

Voldemort nodded with a smile. "Yes, I did. And his parents as well. I was sixteen. You're standing on his grave."

Harry jerked his head downwards, but he could not see the tomb from his position. What did Voldemort want with his fathers grave?

"You'll find out, soon enough…"

Harry looked up, surprised. Voldemort was reading his mind? The Dark Lord smiled at him again. "Legilimency Potter. I'd have thought Dumbledore would have been drilling it into you, under the circumstances…"

Harry ducked his gaze once more, trying to stop Voldemort accessing his mind. How was he doing it? Dumbledore had said he had an immunity to it, or something.

"_It's me, I'd guess. I'm a part of him, in a way, so maybe he's an exception? It would explain your visions, certainly._"

Harry did not respond, worried that Voldemort would hear it. Titus seemed to take the hint, and kept quiet.

Voldemort turned away, looking over at his Death Eaters. Rosier was aiming his wand at the fire, pumping the flames, and sparks began to leap from the surface of whatever it was inside the cauldron. He looked up, and nodded at Voldemort. The Dark Lord hissed in satisfaction.

"Then we need only wait for Sirius. Make sure everything is ready for afterwards!"

The Death Eaters busied themselves, Rosier draping a long, silvery robe over a statue, and a bone white wand reverently on top of it. Harry watched, conscious of the blood still dripping down his wounded chest. Then there was a crack, and Sirius appeared out of thin air. He was clad in the same dark robes as the others, although he had no mask. He sauntered over to them, a business like expression on his face.

"Sirius, welcome back…" Voldemort hissed. "Bartemius tells me you had to deal with an interloper?"

"I did indeed, my Lord." Sirius bowed, then looked up at Harry. He grinned. "You should be proud of your friends Harry…"

"What… No, what have you done?"

Voldemort laughed loudly as Harry realised what Sirius meant. "Sirius you bastard, what have you done?"

Sirius smirked, and turned his back on him, kneeling in front of Voldemort. "What is your will, Master? Shall we begin the ceremony?"

"Yes. It is time, my friends…"

Sirius gathered the Dark Lord into his arms, and carefully placed him into the cauldron. He sank into the potion, and Harry heard him hit the bottom with a thud. Rosier turned swiftly, and raised his wand.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given… You will restore your son."

A cloud of dust spewed from the ground beneath Harry's feet; crushed bone, he realised, and nausea struck him. This was truly dark, foul magic. The smoke from the cauldron turned green as the bone mixed into the potion. Crouch took the dagger from Carrow, and tapped it gently over the cauldron. Several drops of Harry's blood sprinkled into it, and the smoke turned blood red, giving an eerie light to those gathered around it.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken… You will restore your foe."

Sirius drew his wand, and placed the tip of it at his wrist. "Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed… You will restore your Master." There was a flash of light from his wand, and his hand dropped off, severed at the wrist. There was a splash as it hit the potion, and the smoke turned startlingly pale, painting the sky grey as it wisped upwards.

The Death Eaters stepped back from the cauldron, watching it intently. The potion continued to simmer, and Harry began to hope, to pray that something had gone wrong, that whatever it was hadn't worked…

But then came a bright flash of light, and the cauldron dissolved, replaced with a shimmering ball of magic. Harry could see a foetal figure inside it, blurred by the whirling threads of magical energy, but he could tell that it was growing. The ball expanded, larger, and then the figure spasmed, stretching out violently. The hands ripped through the magic, tearing the ball apart, and with another flash of light, it vanished completely, absorbed into the figures skin. Voldemort hovered for a moment, arms outstretched, before dropping to the turf, hunched over again. Instantly, the Death Eaters fell to their knees.

"Robe me."

Rosier grabbed the silvery robe and the wand, and hurried over to his Master, holding them out as he knelt, his head bowed. Voldemort grasped the robe, whirling it round his shoulders, clasping it shut around his waist. His scaly skin shimmered, pale in the moonlight. He looked over at Harry, and licked his lips in anticipation. Harry was revolted to see that the Dark Lord's tongue was forked. Voldemort stretched out his arm towards the Death Eaters, casually summoning his wand from Rosier's hand with a twitch of his wrist.

"Your arm, Sirius."

Sirius stood, and made his way to the Dark Lord. He knelt once more, and held his whole arm up, offering the Dark Mark to his Master. His wounded arm was cradled against his chest, but he made no noise, as if it didn't hurt in the slightest. Voldemort smiled approvingly, and placed the tip of his wand against the Mark. There was a hiss of burning flesh, and the Mark burnt black, livid against Sirius's skin.

"Now they will return to me… My loyal followers… Carrow, fetch Spitewinter. I suppose he can be here for this, at least."

Amycus flicked his wand, muttering something, and Harry recognised a Patronus shooting out of his wand, racing away up the hill. It disappeared when it reached a grand house at the top of the hill. There was a light in one of the windows, but it went out a moment later. Voldemort began to pace, revelling in his new body. His gaze kept flickering to Harry, an impatient gleam in his red eyes, and Harry realized what was going to happen to him.

The graveyard was suddenly filled with the cracks of multiple Apparation, and Harry looked up hopefully, praying that it was Aurors, or Dumbledore, or Remus or Peter… His hopes were in vain. The new arrivals were clad in the same garb as the Death Eaters already there, and Harry's hopes sank. The Death Eaters who had taken part in the ceremony stepped back, and the new arrivals joined them, forming a circle, with Voldemort at the centre. The statue of the angel made up part of the circle, so that Harry was forced to watch. There were a few gaps in the circle, for some reason.

Voldemort smiled, and raised his arms. As one, the gathered Death Eaters sank to their knees.

"Welcome, my friends. It has been too long! Fourteen years… I am pleased that none of you have – forgotten me? Such a prompt response to my summons, as if I had only been away over night. Truly, such loyalty is heartening."

Some of the Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably. Harry didn't blame them. The Dark Lord did not seem pleased at all, if he was any judge. Voldemort resumed pacing, speaking as he walked.

"It must be said however, I am surprised. After all, fourteen years? And now you show up almost instantly… Did you not think it might have been a ministry trick? I find such faith in a dead man a little… unlikely. Perhaps I misjudge you though."

"My Lord, we never thought you dead! How could you be?" The man's voice was frantic, appeasing, but it only attracted Voldemort's wrath.

"_Crucio!_" The Death Eater shrieked under the curse, falling down and writhing in agony. None of his fellows moved to help; indeed, Rosier was watching with cruel glee on his face. Voldemort lifted the curse as someone else arrived, on foot, and in different robes. Harry recognised Spitewinter, the man who had been talking to Lucius Malfoy at the world cup. Some of the Death Eaters murmured at his presence, but a look from Voldemort quelled the noise.

"I'm sure you all recognise Silas Spitewinter… he and his followers have been of use in my restoration. Do make him welcome, won't you…"

Another gap formed in the circle, and Spitewinter took his place, pride all over his face.

"Now, where were we… Ah yes, Rowle, you were informing me, quite rudely, that you never believed I was dead. Really, Rowle? Is that true? Never, not for one moment?"

The Death Eater who had interrupted was still quivering on the ground, but he nodded, shakily.

"You never believed in the famous Harry Potter, never believed that he had defeated me, all those years ago?"

Again, the Death Eater shook his head. Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"Then where have you been? If you believed me alive, why did you not seek me out, as those truly loyal to me did!" He gestured at Sirius and the other Death Eaters from earlier. "The moment Black had even the merest clue to my location, he wasted no time in tracking me down – could you not have done the same? Black has sacrificed his very flesh to restore me!"

Sirius shifted slightly, moving his wounded arm to a position more suited to display. As he did so, Voldemort flicked his wand, and a cloud of silver mist began to form at Sirius's wrist. It shimmered, shifting in the firelight, and solidified, formed into a powerful hand of silver metal. Sirius flexed his fingers, bowing to his master. Voldemort turned back to the fallen Death Eater, sneering at him.

"You profess loyalty to me, yet your actions speak otherwise Rowle. Do not seek to placate me with lies Rowle, do you understand?"

"I… yes, my Lord. I am sorry, truly."

"Better… I will expect much more loyal service from you all in future, or you will suffer my displeasure."

There was no vocal response, but Harry could see that the Death Eaters were agreeing. They had little choice in the matter, even if they had wanted to disagree.

"Fourteen years… Fourteen years of nothingness. My own fault, of course. I was too arrogant."

A disbelieving murmur ran around the gathered Death Eaters, and Voldemort nodded. "Yes, arrogant. Were it not for the several measures I had already taken, my arrogance that night would have been the end of me. As you should have remembered though, I have long been researching methods of immortality… That night was a setback, but nothing more. And it proved that my measures were successful! I stand before you today, unchanged. Harry Potter's 'victory' was the product of luck and my own carelessness, nothing more. And speaking of Harry Potter… you may have noticed his presence tonight."

Instantly all eyes turned to him, and he squirmed. Voldemort prowled over to him, standing and looking up at him. "Harry James Potter… The Boy-Who-Lived… Somewhat shorter than he looks in the paper, no?"

A ripple of laughter ran around the circle, and Harry scowled in defiance. "Maybe so, but you look like you crawled out from under a rock, so I think I'm doing pretty well considering…"

The slits of Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and Harry held his breath, expecting pain. But then a nasty grin spread across the Dark Lord's face. "I admire your spirit Harry… So like your father, he would be very proud of you, I'm sure. Would he not, Sirius?"

Sirius nodded, and Harry glowered in fury. "Don't you dare – " A gesture from Voldemort cut him off, his breath catching and his throat constricting. Voldemort issued a warning look.

"Too much spirit can be a bad thing, Harry. Don't forget that, will you…" He turned away, facing his Death Eaters again. "Harry Potter, my supposed downfall – and now my benefactor, as without the helpful drop of blood he donated earlier, I would not be standing before you now! Thank you for that Harry, I do appreciate it by the way… You have restored me, and made me stronger. Your youthful blood, and we have all seen examples of your power in recent months – a most impressive display against the dragon, you should be proud! And now, some of that power is mine."

Voldemort reached out, and clasped Harry's chin, pulling his head down so their eyes were level. "It seems only fair that I should display some gratitude, give you some… token of my appreciation, what do you say, hmm? Perhaps you would like to go free, be allowed to live?"

Harry swallowed, but said nothing. He would not beg. Not now, not ever. Voldemort smiled cruelly.

"Very well… Carrow! Cut him down, and give him back his wand…"


	25. The Power He Knows Not

**Chapter 22: The Power He Knows Not**

Carrow swished his wand, and Harry dropped to the ground. He stood up, trying to control his trembling nerves, and faced Voldemort as bravely as he could. The Dark Lord smiled mockingly, twirling his wand in anticipation. Carrow drew Harry's wand from his robes, and thrust it at him, leering slightly. Harry ignored him, gripping his wand tightly. It was a small comfort, but comfort it was; he was surely about to die, but at least he could die on his feet.

Drawing his robes over his wounded chest, he strode out to face Voldemort, staring rigidly ahead. The Death Eaters began to jeer, mocking him, but he did not respond. He planted his feet firmly in the grass, his eyes on Voldemort.

The Dark Lord moved to face him, his robes twirling as he moved, and he sketched an elaborate bow in Harry's direction. Harry did not respond, and Voldemort looked up at him. "Oh dear Harry… Can you really have learnt nothing at Hogwarts? Bartemius claimed that you were so noble at the duel with poor Darrow… Will you not bow to me Harry?"

Harry said nothing. Voldemort flashed his fangs, and twitched his wand. Harry was enveloped in a crushing pressure, and he felt his spine bend, forcibly. He bent forward, falling to his knees to relieve the pressure, and the jeers of the Death Eaters grew even louder. After a moment, the pressure was removed, and Harry straightened up, gasping for air. Voldemort's face was blank, but his eyes were flashing with sinister satisfaction.

"And so, we duel… _crucio!_"

Harry tried to duck, but there was no way he could move that fast. Voldemort didn't seem human. The curse hit him, and he screamed. He had felt the cruciatus curse before, but never like this. His nerves were melting, his blood on fire, daggers ripping through his skin… The pain stopped, Voldemort lifting the curse. Harry realised that he was lying on the floor, the wet grass soaking through his robes. He had no recollection of falling, his memory fogged with pain.

"And how does that feel Harry… Another taste, perhaps? _Crucio!_"

Harry had barely recovered from the first one when the second ripped through him. He screamed so hard his throat hurt. The pain did not last as long this time, but the ache lasted. He felt like he couldn't move. Something welled up in his throat, and he spat. Blood spattered the grass, and he winced. He turned his eyes upwards, and met Voldemort's gaze. The Dark Lord was staring down at him with cruel amusement.

"Had enough, Harry? Perhaps a merciful death now sounds appealing, hmm?"

Harry forced himself to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. He stood facing Voldemort, and the Dark Lord smiled.

"Very well…"

His wand flashed, and Harry dived aside, casting his own spell. Voldemort flicked it aside casually, and hit Harry with another spell. He was thrown backwards, sprawling at the feet of some of the Death Eaters. They kicked him back into the circle, jeering loudly. He scrambled to his feet, but another spell clipped his face, and it knocked him flying again, blood spattering from his cheek. He sank to the ground again, and another spell yanked him backwards. He was slammed into the ground, repeatedly.

Voldemort released him, and he sprawled, trying to remind his muscles of how to work. He felt drained, and every last inch of him ached, excruciatingly. The laughter from the circle of Death Eaters grew louder, and it stirred nothing inside him. He couldn't even muster the energy to move, let alone be angry.

"Oh dear oh dear Harry… Giving up so soon? And I've heard so much of your defiant spirit! Your father fought me until I killed him, and your mother was equally courageous. Such a shame that their spirit has not passed along to you… Still, I suppose for someone brought up by Muggles and a halfbreed, we can expect nothing less…"

Harry's eyelids flickered, and his fingers twitched.

"Don't worry Harry, you will be remembered… Your marvellous feats in the Tournament for instance, truly inspirational. I do believe that your transfiguration is one of the finest pieces of magic I have heard about in one of your tender years – so imagine how it will feel for people to learn that one of the finest young wizards of the age could not even muster a basic defence against me. They will be shattered, Harry. They will not resist. In the days before they are killed, your friends will discuss your death, and conclude that you were, at the end, wise. A pleasing thought to end your life on, hmm? Do not say that I am not merciful Harry…"

Harry lay there, Voldemort's arrogance washing over him. The speech disgusted him, but it had been a welcome respite. His bones still ached, but he now felt capable of standing up, at least. Fighting might be a struggle, but he would cross that bridge in a moment. Placing his palms flat on the ground, he pushed himself to his knees. The laughter surrounding him stopped, abruptly. From his knees, he staggered to his feet, clenching his fingers round his wand. Voldemort studied him appraisingly.

"You will not quietly accept death then, Harry?"

"No." Harry spoke softly, his throat still raw, but his denial echoed round the graveyard. The Death Eaters were still, waiting for the climax. He could not even hear them breathing. Voldemort swished his wand back and forth, hypnotically. And then he cast, in movements too quick to fully comprehend.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry didn't bother ducking. He knew that he wasn't going to win this. But he slashed his wand up, sending his own spell at Voldemort, a slashing hex. If nothing else, he would mark Voldemort before he died.

The spells collided in mid-air, and there was a flash of golden light. Streams of magic lashed backwards, snapping to the tip of his wand and binding it in a tight grip. The same happened to Voldemort's wand, and the Dark Lord flinched in astonishment. Sparks flew from the ball of golden light, halfway between the two opponents, and Harry could hear the air sizzling. The wild, unrecognisable magic made his wand buck in his hand, and he clasped his other fist round it, trying to control it. Something told him that breaking the connection would be a bad idea.

The Death Eaters started to move, advancing on them, and Voldemort screamed at them: "Do nothing! He is mine, do nothing unless I tell you!"

They fell back, and Harry and Voldemort locked gazes once more. From somewhere, possibly not even inside his own mind, Harry felt the urge to push. He shoved his magic down his wand, and the ball of light began to move, very slowly. Voldemort hissed, and the golden light halted. Harry could feel a pressure at the tip of his wand; presumably, Voldemort was exerting his own influence on the light. Harry redoubled his efforts, but they appeared to be in vain. Slowly but surely, the light travelled back along the line of magic, towards him.

Sweat began to drip down his face, the fight surprisingly physical. He pushed as much of his will into it as he could, but the light would not move back towards Voldemort. The previous duel had simply exhausted him too much. Inexorably, the light moved closer and closer, and then it touched his wand.

He gagged as the magic spread through his body, soaking every part of him. He could feel the taint of Voldemort's magic seeping into him, and it revolted him. He tried to resist, tried to repel it, but it was simply too strong. He could feel nothing but the Dark Lord's magic. His eyes rolled back in their sockets, consciousness threatening to abandon him.

"_Harry! Harry, you've got to fight it! It's soaking in, I can see it… HARRY!_"

But Harry could not hear Titus.

* * *

Titus watched in despair as the foul smelling magic seeped around Harry's core like flood water. It lapped at the door to the cupboard, tasting it then recoiling, Harry's magic still resisting it, but he could tell that the fight would not go on much longer. Worse, he could feel himself responding to the invading magic. If ever he had doubted Dumbledore's explanation of his nature, those doubts were gone. Voldemort's magic was seeping around his feet, and it was strangely like coming home.

Yet at the same time, a larger part of him was revolted by it. He had 'seen' Voldemort duelling Harry, and he had been disgusted. There had been no glory in it, no honour. It had been the act of a bully, childish and petty, and he had no desire to be linked to such a person. Whatever his nature had been, Harry had changed him, intentionally or otherwise. He would die before he let Voldemort win.

Unfortunately, it looked like he would be dying anyway, and that Voldemort would win regardless of his wishes. He could not see any way to halt the spread of the magic through Harry's body, and Harry was in no position to fight it at present. Despondent, he watched the magic wash around the cupboard door. He was sure it would seep under it at any moment, ending the torment once and for all…

But it didn't happen.

Seconds, minutes passed, and still nothing. Titus stood alert, watching the magic curiously. Something about the door seemed to repel it. With a start, Titus recalled something, something Harry had heard in the past. There was more magic hidden behind that door than either of them fully understood. Perhaps enough to repel Voldemort's magic?

Titus had avoided the door for a while now, the magic behind it making his head ache. He accepted this as irrevocable consequence of living in Harry's head, and it was one of the reasons why he was quietly determined to gain a body of his own… But if the magic could help, then he had little choice in the matter. He strode forward, reaching out his hand to the door handle. He felt something wash over him as he touched it, and he paused. It felt curiously like he was being evaluated, and it was far from pleasant. The feeling passed though, and he clicked the handle open.

Behind the door, there was almost pure brilliance, and it flooded out past him.

Voldemort's magic hissed as the bright light touched it, sizzling and evaporating, burnt away.

Titus felt something stab through him, and his eyes widened in shock, sure that the pain of it would kill him… But it passed as suddenly as it had started.

Harry's magic spread throughout his body, washing him clean of Voldemort's taint, and Titus felt something awaken deep inside the core.

* * *

Harry was still standing.

Wind billowed around him, waving his hair and his tattered robes, but his eyes remained rolled back, unseeing. Around him, the Death Eaters were starting to panic, the situation utterly beyond their understanding. Voldemort himself was watching Harry intently, fascinated. His magic still spread through the strands connecting the wands, but now the ball of light was starting to move back, retracting from Harry's wand ever so slightly. There was no danger of it reaching Voldemort's wand, but resistance was coming from somewhere.

Harry opened his eyes. They flashed.

The ball of golden light exploded, blinding Voldemort to everything that was happening, and he swept his arm up, shielding himself from the blast. As the light faded, he looked back at Harry. Harry stood very still, magic pouring from him. He moved his arm, looking down at it in apparent confusion. There was a crackle of magic around his fingers, as if the very air was reacting to his movement. Harry looked up, and opened his mouth as if to say something.

There was a sound, unidentifiable, on the edge of hearing. Magic pulsed from Harry's body, spreading out around the graveyard. Tombstones cracked and splintered, trees shook, and Voldemort hissed as the magic brushed him with a burning touch. Around Harry's feet, the grass grew, withered, died, and grew again, all in the space of a second. Things shimmered into existence, half conjuration, half wild idea, before disappearing as quickly as they appeared.

Then, as quickly as it had started, everything stopped. The glow in Harry's eyes faded, although his eyes appeared brighter, as if the green was now lit from behind by something unearthly. The air stopped hissing around his fingers. He blinked, as if coming back to himself. He reached up and brushed his cheek; the cut on his face had healed.

Harry and Voldemort studied each other, neither moving. Harry flexed his fingers around his wand. He felt more powerful than ever, and he wasn't sure he could contain it all within in his body. He was filled to the brim with magic, every inch alive to the sensation. It stretched beyond his body; he _knew_ the Death Eater standing behind him was weak, he _knew_ that Sirius was preparing to attack, should he be needed. And he _knew_, unequivocally, that Voldemort was far more powerful than he could ever dream of. His power was not natural, the product of sacrifices and rituals on top of his not inconsiderable natural ability. In a straight contest of power, Harry would still be destroyed.

Fortunately, power wasn't everything, something he suspected Voldemort had never truly realised.

He raised his wand, voicing the spell even though he knew he probably didn't need to now. "_Animatus."_

Behind Voldemort, the giant statue of the angel flexed its wings, and swung the scythe over its shoulder. Some of the Death Eaters saw it move, and drew their wands.

Harry twitched his own again, and gave a familiar command. "_Oppugno._"

The statue leapt from its plinth, the scythe swinging. It wasn't a sharp blade – it wasn't even a _real_ blade – but it was heavy, and when the Death Eaters were hit with it, they went flying. Voldemort whirled to face the new threat, slashing the ugly green light of the killing curse at it, but such spells had no effect against the statue.

Harry watched the chaos with a slightly detached air, still drunk on his own power. Rationally though, he knew that he could not fight them all, and he raised his wand once more.

"_Bombardia! Cremo!_"

The blasting curse struck the ground and exploded, scattering the Death Eaters; the wall of fire that followed it washed over them, setting robes and grass ablaze. The chaos spread, and Harry ran. He could hear Voldemort screaming behind him, and the deep pounding of spells against the statue. Spells whipped over his shoulder, and he aimed his wand over his shoulder, firing off a smattering of jinxes and hexes, more complex magic a little beyond him in his desperation to get away. A spell clipped his shoulder, and he staggered, wishing he was invisible.

He felt his magic twitch, and then he could see through his wand arm. He grinned to himself as the effect spread over his body. That was useful. He quickened his pace, ducking and weaving through the gravestones. There were more statues here, and he waved his wand again, bringing them to life as well, and setting them to attack. He charged past without waiting to see what would happen.

The gates to the graveyard swung open at a touch of his wand, and he darted into the main street. He ran to the corner, thrusting his wand out, confident that in a moment, he would be on the Knight bus out of here.

Nothing happened.

He looked around frantically. Where was it? Despair struck him as he realised that of course it wouldn't be coming. Voldemort was arrogant, not stupid. He would have made sure that Harry would not be leaving tonight. There would be all kinds of wards around the place. Now what to do?

Before he could consider his options, two Death Eaters burst through the gates. One flicked his wand, and Harry felt something wash over him.

"He's over there!" one of the Death Eaters cried, and they both cast spells in his general direction. Harry didn't stick around to find out what they would do, but started to run, not sure where he was going, but knowing it was better than staying still. He heard something above him, and looking up, spotted clouds of black mist dotting the sky. It was a wonder the local muggles didn't spot all the magical activity.

He tripped over something, and then he understood. It wasn't usual for rotting corpses to be lying around the streets of quiet villages, Harry was fairly sure. There probably wasn't anybody but the Death Eaters left alive in the entire village. His stumble had attracted attention though; a column of mist descended in front of him, a grinning face shifting into view. With a jolt, Harry realised his invisibility spell had dropped. He swiped his wand, and the Death Eater was knocked off his feet, spiralling away and thudding against a high wall.

Two more columns flew down, curses flying from their midst, and Harry sent a bright ball of light from his wand. The columns veered away, and he ran once more, making his way towards the big house at the top of the hill. It was only when he was halfway there that he remembered Spitewinter had been in this house. It was the centre of operations.

"_Which means it'll probably have a working Floo system, get going!_"

Harry grinned at this, and set off once more. He abandoned subtlety, blowing the doors from their hinges as he approached. He leapt over the wreckage, landing lightly in the hallway. He cast a floating ball of light, nervous of the pervading gloom of the house, and looked around. There were footprints in the dust on the stairs, heading upwards. That seemed like a good bet. Before he started to climb though, he heard something. A man, crying out in pain.

He hesitated, looking around. A trick? The cry came again, and Harry sighed. If it wasn't, then he would never forgive himself for abandoning someone to Voldemort. It was coming from the cellar, and he headed to the stairs, descending cautiously.

It wasn't a trick. Someone was chained to the wall, waist length hair obscuring his face. His chest was covered in blood, and he was suspended from a pair of wrist shackles. Harry darted over to him, tapping his bonds with his wand. They snapped open, and Harry caught him as he fell to the floor. The man looked up at him, blinking in bleary shock.

"James…?"

Harry started. This man knew his father? "No, I'm Harry – his son."

"Harry… Harry Potter…" The man's eyes widened, as if he was just waking up. "Harry Potter! Voldemort, he's alive, he wants you for something - "

"I know," Harry responded grimly. "He got it as well, most of it. What's your name?"

"Dearborn… Caradoc Dearborn. I… You need to get out of here Harry, go!"

Caradoc Dearborn. The man everyone had thought was a traitor. Harry hadn't thought about him since last year; he supposed that if Sirius had been a traitor, it was unlikely Dearborn was as well. And if he had been… Well, then he should face justice. He was clearly no threat to Harry at the moment. Dudley could probably have beaten him in a magical duel at this point.

Harry hoisted him up, draping one arm over his shoulders, and started to walk out of the cellar. There was a noise on the stairs, and a Death Eater came clattering in, his wand raised. Harry's spell met him the instant he set foot over the threshold, and he sank to the floor, blood dripping from a chest wound. Harry moved slowly up the stairs, lumbered by Dearborn's weight. More Death Eaters were around the destroyed doors, and they began to throw spells at Harry, making him duck back through the doorway. He stuck the tip of his wand round the corner.

"_Fumis! Solaris Diem! Cremo!_"

The hallway was instantly flooded with smoke, light, and fire. He dragged Dearborn out, and flicked his wand again. With a cry of "_Ascendeo!_" they soared through the air, landing on the upper level of the building. There was an open doorway, and Harry could see a fireplace inside the room. Dragging Dearborn with him, he made his way towards it. His heart leapt joyfully at the sight of a jar of Floo powder by the fire. He flicked his wand, and the fire lit with a crackle of wood. He took a pinch of powder, and threw it into the flames. They sparked green.

"No!" Voldemort's high-pitched scream of fury rang round the room, and Harry whirled, sweeping his wand around him. A wave of fire streamed across the room, catching Voldemort full on, and he recoiled.

"Hogwarts!" Harry pushed Dearborn into the fire, and placed one foot inside himself. He took one last look behind him as he vanished, and the last thing he saw was Voldemort, his red eyes blazing with fury behind the flames.


	26. Twilight, or New Dawn?

**Chapter 23: Twilight, or New Dawn?**

Harry and Dearborn tumbled out of the fire into Dumbledore's office. Harry rolled, and immediately extinguished the fire, trying to stop Voldemort or any Death Eaters following. After a seconds thought, he cast another spell, turning the fireplace into solid stone. He was sure Dumbledore wouldn't mind, under the circumstances. He stood back, breathing hard. The full weight of what had happened over the last few hours was starting to sink in. He was tired, wounded, and not really in full comprehension of what was going on. He winced in pain as his panting stretched the wound on his chest. Parting his robes, he was shocked to see that he was still bleeding, just slightly.

He turned to face his companion. "You ok?"

Dearborn tilted his head up, his eyes dull. "I've spent the last fourteen years chained up; I'm not exactly at my best, no. But I'm not injured, Merlin knows how. That was some bloody impressive magic back there! Your parents would have been proud."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "You know then."

"Oh, I've been kept well informed. Why do you think Sirius didn't like taking you to Grimmauld Place?"

"That's where you were?"

"At first, yes, then they shifted me there 'bout a year ago. Fourteen years of him relieving his frustration on me. If you don't mind, I'd like first crack at him, next time we bump into him."

Harry shook his head, his eyes cold. "Sorry. I'm first in line. Remus and Peter have the next go. You'll have to wait your turn."

"Fair enough." Dearborn shrugged casually. "It was a long shot. Now we should probably make ourselves known. Dumbledore probably already knows someone's come through, better make sure they don't come up here looking for a fight."

It was a fair point. Casting a last worried look at the fireplace, but assuming that if anyone was going to follow, they would have done so by now, Harry led the way. Dearborn was still weak, his muscles wasted after over a decade of captivity, and Harry had to support him. The school was eerily quiet; it wasn't quite curfew, but no-one was around. Despite his disappearance, Harry would have thought there would have been a few people around. He was heading for the Hospital Wing. He couldn't say how, but he felt like that was where Dumbledore was currently to be found. It was as if he could _feel_ the Headmaster's magic, rippling out around the castle. It was a strange feeling, but he couldn't bring himself to worry about it.

As they approached the closed doors of the Hospital Wing, they could hear raised voices. One of them sounded like Remus, and he quickened his pace. It wouldn't do to leave them in suspense any longer. He pushed the doors open, Dearborn leaning against the wall for support.

" – just vanished! We can't track him anywhere, we need the Ministry to assist!" Remus was yelling at Cornelius Fudge, who looked very close to losing his temper entirely. Harry paused to watch the encounter.

"Lupin, we're having difficulties of our own. We're still working on Karkaroff, but there isn't much we can do at the moment. It's been hours," as he spoke, Fudge's voice softened, as if he was preparing to deliver bad news. "I'm afraid we have to face facts; Harry is probably dead by now. I'm sorry."

Harry couldn't help himself. "Oh ye of little faith…"

For a moment, the only sound in the room was of the occupants whirling to face him. Fudge's jaw dropped. The others looked equally surprised, but this was tempered with relief. Ginny broke the silence, crying out his name and running across the room, throwing herself at him forcefully. He staggered as he caught her, wincing as she crushed the cut along his chest. The others surged forward, babbling all at once, while she stepped back, touching his chest gently. She could clearly feel the wound. She looked up at him, concern evident, and he shook his head reassuringly. Before he could say anything, Remus and Peter were crushing him between them, and he was sure Remus was actually crying.

When they gave him room to breathe, Dumbledore, who had stayed back with Fudge, spoke up. "Welcome back Harry. Before you begin what is no doubt a fascinating tale, perhaps you could introduce your companion?"

Harry half-turned round, looking back at Dearborn, who was still skulking in the shadows. He beckoned him forward, and Dearborn stepped forward tentatively. There were no immediate gasps of recognition, although Peter's eyes narrowed, as if trying to place him. Dearborn gave a little wave.

"This is Caradoc Dearborn, headmaster."

Dearborn took a slight step back as Remus and Peter's wands whipped up, aiming right at his neck. Dumbledore stepped forward, his own wand now drawn. Harry stepped between them quickly, his hands held up in appeasement. "I should perhaps point out that he was chained to a wall when I found him…"

"It's the truth! What's the problem?" Dearborn looked genuinely confused.

"Well, for the last fourteen years, we have rather assumed that you were a traitor, Caradoc…" Dumbledore explained, gently.

"What? That's… That's… What?" Dearborn now looked pole-axed, as if someone had punched him in the face.

"We can talk about that later, don't worry. For now, I am more interested in your story, Harry."

Dearborn sagged onto a bed, still looking shell shocked, as Harry began to relate the events of the evening. He refrained from mentioning Titus in any respect, but otherwise spared no details, explaining the ritual in depth, and relating the duel, and his explosion of power. Dumbledore's eyes lit up as Harry explained about this, as if he knew precisely what was going on. It wouldn't be any surprise, he usually did.

There was silence when he had finished, his voice trailing off. Ron was staring at him with something approaching awe, while Ginny and Hermione had tears on their faces. Remus and Peter, for their part, were somehow managing to project a desperate sadness mixed with extreme pride. After a moment, Fudge stepped forward.

"A remarkable tale Harry, truly remarkable. I will need you to submit a copy of the memories to display to the Wizengamot, but Dumbledore can sort that out." He picked up his revolting bowler hat, and headed for the door. "The Ministry will be on a war footing within hours, I assure you."

Harry watched him go. "A better response than I'd have expected, I'll admit."

"Fudge may not be the most competent Minister we've ever had Harry, but he isn't a complete idiot." Dumbledore said, mildly.

Any response to this was cut short by Remus enveloping Harry in a tight hug, which Harry returned, gratefully. "I'm so proud of you," Remus whispered to him, and Harry smiled.

"So Sirius has a new hand… Lucky him, he must be doing well for himself," Peter commented with a dark look. Harry matched it.

"Yeah, he showed up late though. Said he'd been dealing… with…" His voice trailed off as he looked around the room, dread spreading through him. He had suddenly remembered precisely what Sirius had said to him. That he should be proud of his friends. "Where's Neville?"

Hermione ducked her head, and her shoulders began to shake. Ron and Ginny looked at each other, and then over at another bed. Harry followed their gaze, and his heart sank. There was someone lying on the bed, covered in a white sheet. Climbing to his feet, he approached the bed slowly, scared to look under the sheet, but knowing he had to. He tugged the top of the sheet back, and had to look away.

Neville lay there, his eyes closed peacefully. He looked as if he was merely sleeping, but there was no spark of life anywhere. It was obvious that he was dead. Harry pulled the sheet down further, and gasped, horrified at the sight of Neville's chest. The wound had obviously been cleaned, but it still looked as if someone had tried to tear him into pieces. It was horrible.

"We found him outside the stands, under the Dark Mark," Peter's voice was soft, an attempt to soothe Harry, but it wasn't working. "We don't know who it was, but – "

"It was Sirius. He as good as told me, said that I should be proud of my friends." Harry's voice shook with rage, and he felt someone clasp his shoulder. He didn't turn round. "That bastard."

"Harry – "

"That fucking _bastard!_"

There was a crack, and a window shattered under the force of Harry's magic, running wild in his fury and sorrow. Magic swirled around the room, and Neville's hair ruffled in the wind, for one moment giving a heartbreaking sign of life to him. Harry's vision blurred; he swiped at his eyes, and realised that they were streaming with tears. Someone clasped him to them, tightly, and he screwed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of his friend's body.

"We checked his wand. He – he was duelling. We think that he saw Sirius setting fire to the spectator stands, and tried to intervene." Remus spoke hesitantly, and Harry listened in silence. He forced his magic down, conscious of the fact that it was slowly becoming dangerous, and the illusion of life once again left Neville. It settled in a mess, his fringe sweeping down into his eyes, a far cry from the neat style he had favoured. Harry reached out, and gently brushed it away. His friend was cold to the touch.

"Come on, come away Harry." Remus' grip on his shoulder tightened, and Harry allowed himself to be lead away. He sat down on the bed in a daze, his vision still blurred, and his face wet. He looked over at his friends. Hermione's eyes were red, but she had stopped crying, and was now looking at him pityingly. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. Ron and Ginny were looking at the floor. They said nothing; there was nothing to say, at this moment.

The silence was broken by Madame Pomfrey, hurrying over with a potion for Harry to drink. He recognised the tang of Dreamless Sleep, and welcomed it, drinking it all down. He was asleep before he hit the pillow.

* * *

"Come on, off to bed. Mr Potter will be fine here for the night, I assure you."

Despite Dumbledore's words, Hermione, Ron and Ginny looked distinctly reluctant to go, hovering around Harry's bed like sentinels. Remus smiled at them.

"You should go and tell Parvati that he's back safe and sound, don't you think? Don't worry, we won't leave him alone."

Harry's friends stood up, grudgingly, and filed out of the Hospital Wing. Ron took a last glance over his shoulder at Harry, reassuring himself that his friend was ok. Remus watched them go, and slipped into a chair by Harry's bed as the door closed, watching his ward sleep.

"He'll be fine Remus, don't worry." Dumbledore placed his hand on Remus' shoulder comfortingly. "For now, I would like to hear about your story, Caradoc."

"So would I. What the hell happened to you Dearborn?" Peter spoke in strained tones.

Dearborn looked up from his daze, a smile spreading across his face. "Peter? Is that you? Merlin's balls, I didn't recognise you! How've you been?"

"I – I've been ok. Largely, anyway." Dearborn's enthusiasm seemed to unsettle Peter somewhat, as if he hadn't expected it. Dearborn grinned at him.

"Glad to hear it. I missed you, you know?"

Peter's lips twitched into a small smile. "Really? Oh. I – I see."

"That is perhaps a conversation for later, if I may suggest?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in amusement, as both Peter and Dearborn blushed like teenagers. "So Caradoc, what happened to you?"

"Sirius sent me a message, saying you wanted a meeting to review the Fidelius Charm, make sure it was still working. I didn't think to check before I went, because – well, it was _Sirius_, you know? How could it have been a lie?" Dearborn shrugged in disbelief, and the others nodded, grimly. They were only too familiar with the sense of horror and outrage. "Well, when I showed up, obviously you weren't there. I asked Sirius where you were, and he told me you weren't coming. Then he cursed me. I woke up in Grimmauld Place, and they had questions for me…" Dearborn tailed off, clearly remembering something traumatic. After a moment, he shook his head, dispelling the memories from his mind, for the moment. "They tortured me, made me tell them where Frank and Alice were. Sirius told me later what had happened to them… It's barbaric. That's about it really. Sirius kept me prisoner until about a year ago, when I was taken to wherever Harry rescued me from tonight. Voldemort's dad's house, I think they said?"

"I'll send word to Cornelius immediately Caradoc. I'm sure there won't be anything left now, but you never know. I'll have a house-elf take you to a room for the night. It's good to have you back Caradoc, truly."

"It's good to be back Albus. See you Peter…" Dearborn flashed a smile at Peter as he left the room, accompanied by a house-elf. As he left, Remus turned to Dumbledore.

"Albus, Harry said something about his magic changing… What happened to him? I didn't recognise what he described at all!"

Dumbledore smiled. "Remus, surely Harry ought to know first, don't you think? Don't worry though, I know exactly what happened – at least, I believe I do, and I am generally accurate in my theories. I'll explain it all when he wakes up, don't worry."

Remus scowled after Dumbledore as the Headmaster left. "Does he ever get on your nerves Wormtail?"

"I think it's how he gets his kicks these days Moony. You just have to deal with it."

* * *

Harry came round slowly, his vision blurred. Someone had put his glasses on the table at the side of the bed, and he fumbled for them, placing them over his eyes. What he saw made him freeze, stunned. There had been beds, chairs, all the usual furniture scattered around the room. Now though… In the corner of the room, there was a small apple tree, leaves golden in the sunlight streaming through the window. Vines were creeping up the wall, flowers budding at intervals along them, snaking through cracks in the ancient stone. Harry stared around in confusion. He couldn't work out what had happened, but whatever it was, it felt right. It felt _good_.

"Good morning Harry. And how are you feeling this morning?"

Dumbledore was sitting in the corner, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on his lap. He had evidently been engrossed until Harry awoke. The headline was big, bold, and depressing: _**The Dark Lord Returns! **_Fudge had clearly been busy the previous evening. There was a photo of him standing outside the Ministry of Magic, delivering a speech to the assembled press. It was a relief to see that the article was not written by Rita Skeeter; she had had far too much front page exposure for Harry's liking.

"Better I think, thank you sir. What have I missed?"

"We are at war, once again. Fudge has acted commendably quickly, although we are still in a perilous situation I am afraid. This will not be a brief conflict, and we are far less prepared for war than we were even at the start of the last war. The ministry has been rather optimistic of late, despite all the signs. We have very few aurors of any consequence, and I cannot see many people rushing to join up."

"Well, that's very comforting sir. Good morning to you too." Harry's sarcasm apparently went by unnoticed. "So how are we going to fight?"

"We are in the process of reforming the Order of the Phoenix Harry, which I know you've heard of. We might not be a professional organisation, but we can do our bit, certainly."

"When can I sign up?"

Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment. "We would not normally accept someone before they were of age Harry, but yours are, admittedly, rather more unusual circumstances. Voldemort will want you dead, as soon as possible, for the simple fact that you have escaped him twice, if nothing more. However, I am reluctant to let you sign up when you have so little control over your magic."

"But I've been getting better! I barely lose control at all now!" Harry's protests fell on deaf ears, as Dumbledore smiled indulgently.

"You broke a window last night Harry, although I think we can let that slide, under the unfortunate circumstances…"

Harry looked away, pain stabbing through him at the reminder of Neville's death. Still unwilling to look at the headmaster, he turned his gaze to where Neville had been laid last night. The body was no longer there, and Harry frowned. It felt wrong, somehow, that his friends' body had been moved without him awakening. As if he had missed his last chance to say goodbye.

"His grandmother has taken him home, Harry. His funeral will be in a couple of weeks, once everything is ready."

"Good. That's good." Harry's voice was a whisper. He felt his eyes begin to sting, and he had to move the conversation on. Anything, other than this. "What happened here?" He gestured around the room, as if he could have been talking about anything other than the decent beginnings of a forest that had sprouted overnight.

"A rather drastic remodelling, to be sure. And it is precisely this that I am talking about when I refer to your lack of control, Harry."

Harry looked quizzically at Dumbledore, and then the penny dropped. He frowned. "I did this? But… How? I've always known when I've lost control before!"

"It is perhaps inaccurate to say that you lost control, Harry – more that, for the first time in your life, your magic is flowing uninhibited. It is making the use of the freedom, shall we say?"

"Uninhibited? You mean the block's dissolved?"

"That is indeed the case Harry. At about the point Voldemort's magic clashed with your own, when the twinned wands blocked each other, if I am not mistaken. You finally have full access to your power. Congratulations."

"Thanks. That doesn't really explain this though, does it? I mean, I've done some impressive stuff in my time, but this is a little more than that! I don't feel that much more powerful, just…" He tailed off, unable to describe how he felt adequately.

"More connected to things?" Dumbledore suggested. Harry looked at him curiously.

"Yes. That's it precisely. How did you know?"

Dumbledore reclined in the chair, and Harry relaxed in the bed, settling in for the long haul. "I have had my suspicions about your power for a while now Harry. You have always been powerful – I'm sure you've heard the story, but you were unleashing accidental magic a mere month after you were born, and my beard bore the brunt of it I'm afraid."

Harry grinned at the story, one he had heard many times before, but said nothing, only nodding.

"You may have started unusually early, but that aside, your strength was nothing to be overly amazed at; you were the son of two powerful and gifted people, and while it isn't a strict rule that powerful parents will have powerful children, it is far from rare, obviously. It was only once you arrived at Hogwarts that I began to think of other possibilities. The block on your magic suggested you would be much more powerful that we had thought previously, but there were… certain signs, that suggested you might be more than simply a powerful wizard."

Harry cast his mind back over all the unusual magic he had cast over the years. The only things he could think of as being particularly remarkable were the way his magic had reacted to Quirrell and his ability to speak Parseltongue. He was good at transfiguration and conjuration, certainly, but that was for his age – the skills themselves weren't unusual. He looked up at Dumbledore and shook his head.

"I don't really know what you mean sir. I'm a Parselmouth, I guess, that's unusual. And my magic reacting to Quirrell the way it did, but that was because of my mother…"

A guilty look flashed across Dumbledore's face, and Harry frowned. The headmaster sighed. "Harry, your mother's sacrifice did place a protection on you – but only against Voldemort himself. What happened to Quirrell was your own magic running wild. Of course, now that Voldemort has your blood in his veins, your mother's protection is sadly nullified."

Harry sat there dumbly, absorbing the information as calmly as possible. It was difficult. "You mean Darrow wasn't the first person I killed?"

"Harry, you had even less control over Quirrell's death than you did Darrow's. It was simply a random quirk of your magic – and such things happen to many people, there are dozens of Aurors who owe their lives to their magic lashing out in protection. And he was trying to kill you, at the time."

"Yeah, I know, but still… I was eleven years old, and I killed someone!"

"Harry, you were widely believed to have killed Lord Voldemort when you were one year old – you have never seemed to feel particularly guilty about that."

"He killed my parents, and he was – he was trying to kill me." Harry nodded as he followed the logic through to its sensible conclusion.

"Exactly. But we digress Harry. We were speaking of the unusual qualities of your magic. You believe that it is only your status as a Parselmouth that marks you out as special? What happened to Quirrell does not, especially, mark you out as special, merely powerful. But there have been other things, you must be able to think of them Harry."

Harry shrugged, racking his brain. "I honestly don't know sir. I'm good at Transfiguration, but that's just a talent. There's nothing unique about it."

"Harry, you turned a rock into a dragon. Do you honestly think that other skilled or powerful wizards could replicate such an achievement? I will accept, until then you could be excused for merely believing yourself to have a natural aptitude for such areas of magic, but after the First Task? Well, that was when you were truly marked as something special to the world. It was your skill at Transfiguration – and, latterly, your skill for conjuration – that first attracted my interest. Think back to all the major incidents of accidental magic you have had. The majority, if not all of them, have centred around you somehow altering or creating something. Am I right?"

Harry sat there, thinking. Routinely changing the colour of his wallpaper. Changing a gushing jet of water to iron, knocking out a troll in the process. Conjuring dozens of butterflies from thin air. Now that he thought about it, his duel with Lockhart at the duelling club; he had accidently transfigured him into a peacock – not accidental magic, true, but he apparently had enough innate ability to completely change someone's form, against their will, and do them no harm whatsoever. Even when there was no particular effect of his magic running wild, he often caused a wind to go through the room he was in. He nodded, slowly. He didn't see where Dumbledore was going with this, but he could see that the headmaster was right. When he thought about it, he was scarily good at Transfiguration.

"You see? As I have said, I initially marked you down as 'merely' being a powerful wizard with a talent for Transfiguration. I must confess, there were other signs, even during your first year, but I paid no attention to them, not recognising them for what they were. It was only when you told me that the Sorting Hat, amongst other things, addressed you as 'Mighty One'."

"I remember that. You said it was just referring to me being powerful…" Harry was now getting very confused. Dumbledore was unravelling things they had talked about – evidently falsely – years ago. He had almost forgotten that he had ever been referred to as Mighty One.

"A white lie, Harry, I am afraid. I felt it wise to be a little… circumspect about the truth, at that stage. And I was not entirely certain I knew what the truth was. I certainly did not know whether to believe it!"

"And what is the truth?" Harry was sitting straight up now, sensitive to the fact that, somehow, his life was going to change forever. Dumbledore met his gaze steadily.

"Mighty One was used in the old legends, to describe a sorcerer."

Harry looked Dumbledore straight in the eye, the headmaster's statement echoing around the room. Then he chuckled, a little hysterically.

"Sir, are you honestly saying that I'm a sorcerer? The sorcerers died out thousands of years ago! Half of the stuff we know about them might not even be true!"

"If half of what we know might be inaccurate, then surely it is possible that the belief they died out is inaccurate as well?"

Harry started to reply, but tailed off, trying to come up with a logical response to that. While he mustered his thoughts, Dumbledore continued.

"I am merely being pedantic with you Harry; the sorcerers did die out, although I will not say to you that they were stripped of their power by the Shining Ones. I have no evidence either way as to whether the Shining Ones existed or not, although I personally do not believe in them. However, the legends do say that Muggles are wizards – or sorcerers – who lost their power. It does not seem impossible to me that the power should resurface."

"Ok, ok – let's say I am a sorcerer. Why? Why, after thousands of years, would it suddenly reappear with me?" Harry demanded.

Dumbledore looked at Harry as if evaluating him. After a moments pause, he responded: "There may be a reason. There may not. Who can say?"

Harry almost snarled in his frustration, but he moved onto other matters. "What other 'evidence' have you got?"

"Unicorns were created by sorcerers, according to the legends – horses altered and shaped by sorcery. They consequently shared an affinity with them, a natural bond. I'm sure that sounds familiar to you, hmm?"

Harry said nothing. But it did. It sounded very familiar.

"Sorcery was a different kind of magic. There was no reliance on wands, and your magic seems perfectly capable of working without recourse to your wand, when necessary."

Harry remembered being totally sure that he would not have needed his wand to cast spells back in the graveyard.

"Whether cast with a wand or not, sorcery centred around transfiguration, and related areas of magic. Sorcerers are referred to, sometimes, as 'changers'. You have an astonishing talent for transfiguration and conjuration. Not only can you, apparently without much effort, turn rock into a living creature of immense size, you have, on several occasions this year, bypassed wards specifically designed to prevent transfiguration."

Harry frowned at that last point. "When have I done that?"

"Duelling platforms are warded to prevent combatants altering the platform itself. When you duelled Professor Moody, you turned it to water. When you duelled Darrow, you blew it up in his face. You broke the laws of magic, apparently without realising it."

"Huh. I didn't know that. Ok, so you've got some points, but – "

"Harry, when your magic finally broke free of the restraints upon it, it started creating things out of thin air. Last night, while you slept, you changed the furniture of the Hospital Wing into various flora and fauna! We had to move N… the other residents, to be sure that you wouldn't turn them into trees! Your magic defaults to creation and change. You have a bond with unicorns – they seek you out, speak to you, even your Patronus takes the form of a unicorn. You are addressed in what we are told is the traditional term of address for a sorcerer. You have a burgeoning talent for wandless magic. Precisely what other evidence can I offer you?"

Harry did not reply. It was too much. He had known he was powerful, and had accepted that – even revelled in it, to an extent. But that was just a matter of scale. There was always scope for someone to be more powerful, and despite the Pureblood worship of power, he knew that power meant nothing without talent and control. To go from that to being the second coming of the original wizards… That was incredible. How could it be true? He looked up at Dumbledore to refute his statements, tell him that he was talking rubbish. But something in the headmaster's eyes stilled his tongue.

Dumbledore had lied to him, he knew this. But now that he knew about the lies, he could see the point in them. He could see that, if Dumbledore had told him the truth about Quirrell, he would have snapped. No eleven year old should be faced with the knowledge that they had killed a man, accidentally or otherwise. He was arguing now, when Dumbledore had evidence – if the headmaster had come right out and told him the significance of being addressed as Mighty One two years ago, he would probably have laughed in his face, if he had even understood what they were talking about. Telling him that he was a sorcerer… He couldn't see what could be gained from that. And while he accepted that Dumbledore was and always would be far wiser than anybody else, under the circumstances, he didn't feel that it was his own ignorance holding him back from the truth. It was simply his own stubbornness.

"Ok. I believe you, I guess. I'm a sorcerer. What does that actually mean?"

Dumbledore smiled ruefully. "I have some knowledge of the history of sorcerers. I am not, however, a sorcerer myself. As you have said, they have been extinct for thousands of years. I was rather hoping you could tell me, if I'm honest."

Harry stared at him, and then started to laugh. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow quizzically. "I'm sorry sir, I just never thought I'd be giving Albus Dumbledore lessons!"

The headmaster's lips twitched into a smile. "Well, when you put it like that… I am sincerely sorry that I cannot be of more assistance to you Harry, but this is no-one's area of expertise I'm afraid, let alone mine. However, rest assured that I will guide you as best I can along the path to knowledge."

"Thank you sir," Harry said, getting himself back under control. He suddenly felt bad for laughing. They were at war, his friend was dead – how could he be laughing?

"It's quite alright Harry," Dumbledore informed him, cutting through his maudlin reflections. "However, if you could see your way to restoring the furniture to its original state, that would be greatly appreciated. It has thus far resisted our efforts magnificently."

"Oh! Yes, certainly sir…" Harry looked around for his wand. It was lying on the table by the bed, and he picked it up. With a flick, the vines on the wall vanished, fading away into thin air. The tree shrank, shifting back into a bed, the white sheets surprisingly crisp, given their metamorphosis. In seconds, the room was back to normal.

"Thank you Harry. And all non-verbal, most impressive."

Harry watched him go in silence. The news that he was a sorcerer had shaken him. He didn't fully understand how or why it had happened, and if he was honest, he wasn't entirely certain he believed it. He was sure Dumbledore was telling him what he believed to be the truth, but he was capable of making mistakes, just like anyone else. He might have got it wrong. There was no way he could be a sorcerer. It was insane.

Wasn't it?

* * *

Far, far away from Hogwarts, Gabriel Faulkner stood staring at the Eye with rising trepidation. He had been asleep when the summons had arrived, calling him into their chambers late the previous evening. The Eye had begun to blaze with light, as it had two years ago, when the sword had vanished into thin air. However, this time, the light had not dimmed. It was burning just as strongly now – arguably brighter – as it had in the initial burst.

It was bad news, for someone. If things didn't go according to plan, it could be bad news for everyone.

At least they had more information now. The Eye had been burning long enough for them to take more than basic readings, and the outburst it had reacted to had been traced to a tiny Muggle village called Little Hangleton. Before they had been able to dispatch a team though, the outburst had shifted, relocating to Hogwarts school. This had seemed to confirm suspicions that had been tugging at Faulkner's mind since last June, and subsequent news – that Harry Potter had been kidnapped by Death Eaters, before returning to Hogwarts, that Voldemort had returned – had cemented them as fact.

"So there's no doubt, Gabriel?"

Faulkner whirled round at the sound of his superior's gravelly tones, snapping off a salute. "No sir, we're certain now. It's Potter. There hasn't even been a flicker since it started – I don't know what happened last night, but he's finally done it. Finally realised his potential."

Silas Tulliver walked forward, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He did not look happy. He let his gaze linger over the burning Eye, and he frowned. "Do you think he knows what's happening? It's not like there's a guide book for sorcery, not these days."

Faulkner shook his head. "No way of knowing at the moment sir. If left to his own devices, probably not, but Dumbledore… He knows a hell of a lot, and he's intelligent enough to put clues together. He could have worked it out."

"Hmm. Well, we'll find out soon enough. Start making the preparations for evaluation. I want to know if we're going to have to kill the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Yes sir." Faulkner saluted again as Tulliver stalked away. He turned back to the Eye, and jotted down a few more notes. He hoped the boy would prove not to be a threat, but if he was, then he would have to die, simple as that.

After all, sorcerers were dangerous.


	27. Sadness of Farewell

**Chapter 24: Sadness of Farewell**

A/N: The title of this chapter is taken from Tennyson's poem _Crossing the Bar_, with all due apologies:

Sunset and evening star,  
And one clear call for me!  
And may there be no moaning of the bar,  
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,  
Too full for sound and foam,  
When that which drew from out the boundless deep  
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,  
And after that the dark!  
And may there be no sadness of farewell,  
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place  
The flood may bear me far,  
I hope to see my Pilot face to face  
When I have crost the bar.

* * *

Harry buttoned his shirt slowly, staring blankly ahead of him. He was not looking forward to the next few hours. Not at all. He was wearing his finest dress robes, jet black and well cut. With a sudden pang, he remembered the last time he had worn them; the Yule Ball, when everything had been better. When all that he and his friends had been worrying about was whether they would get a date or not. He had seen Susan Bones last night. Although he wasn't aware of a continuing relationship between her and Neville after the Ball, her eyes had been red, and she had been sniffling. He wondered if she would be there today.

He looked into the mirror, and made a forlorn attempt to smooth his hair down. It felt wrong, but he couldn't go to the funeral looking a mess, he didn't want to appear disrespectful. He grabbed a comb, and ran it through his hair again and again, pulling until it was painful. His efforts were in vain. Tutting angrily, he drenched the comb in water, and repeated the process. Again, he had no success, and he finally resorted to trying to flatten it with magic. But no matter what he did, his hair would not lie flat. Growling in frustration, he threw his wand across the bathroom, and it clattered against the wall before falling to the floor. He sank to the floor, leaning against the wall with his head in his hands.

How could Neville be dead?

* * *

Hermione made her way down to the stadium carefully, picking her way through the debris. It had been partly disassembled following the conclusion of the Tournament, and there were still bits of the seats scattered around. There was no trace of the fire that had spread through them, which had mercifully caused only a few minor injuries. She clutched the Time-Turner tightly in her hand. When she had been to hand it back to Dumbledore, a year previously, he had turned her away, his eyes twinkling almost mischievously.

"I am afraid, Miss Granger, that I have already informed the Ministry of its unfortunate destruction during the attack by the Death Eaters; it would be a dreadful act to ruin all that carefully prepared paperwork, don't you think? Besides, you never know when you might be in need of a little more time…"

Little had she thought that she might one day use it to prevent the death of a friend.

She had done the calculations carefully, and checked and re-checked them. Her plan was simple: return to the night of the third task, and not only prevent Sirius killing Neville, but prevent Karkaroff slipping the portkey to Harry, all by alerting Dumbledore in good time. She couldn't believe it had taken her as long to think of it as it had – nearly three days, and then working out the calculations had taken nearly an entire day all by themselves. Still, that was the thing about time-travel; you didn't need to worry about how long something took you.

She picked her spot carefully, secluded in some cover behind where the stadium had been. Nobody would see her arrive, with any luck, but she had been familiarising herself with the Dis-Illusionment Charm again, and she drew her wand to place it on herself.

"Good morning Miss Granger," a cheerful and familiar voice interrupted.

She squeaked, and nearly dropped the Time-Turner, which would have been disastrous. Professor Dumbledore was sitting facing her, an understanding look on his face. She could have sworn that he hadn't been there a moment before.

"I suspected you might attempt something of this sort Hermione. All too understandable, under the circumstances. It is never easy to lose a friend, especially at such a young age. But Hermione, do you really think this is the wisest course of action?"

Hermione drew herself up, looking back at Dumbledore defiantly. "Yes sir. What's the point of time-travel if you can't use it for good? Neville…" She almost choked on his name, in a sudden pang of grief, and she dashed her hand across her eyes, wiping away tears. "He shouldn't be dead! He was only fourteen! I've got the means to bring him back, so why not? I could stop the war in an instant – make it so it never even started! I know where they're hiding, I know who works for him – we could stop it all!"

"And do you not think that similar thoughts have gone through people's heads at the start of every magical war? Even Muggles, who cannot time-travel by any method, theorise about whether they would prevent Hitler's birth. You are exceptionally bright Miss Granger, but that is not an idea exclusive to you, I'm afraid."

"But… But it would work! It has to work!"

Dumbledore shook his head gently. "It would not. Time-travel is a wonderful and powerful tool, but it is not omnipotent. There are some things that simply cannot be changed. Neville's death is a tragedy, but it cannot be prevented. His soul has moved on. And deep down, I suspect you know this already."

Hermione dropped her gaze, looking at the ground, and then nodded briefly. She looked back up, and this time made no attempt to wipe away her tears. "But then why did you tell me to keep it? What's the point if I can't change anything?"

"Journeys do not have to be about change, Miss Granger. They are about what you can learn. Who can say what use you might find for it in the future? But for now, it is useless. Honour Neville, as he truly deserves. He died a hero's death, trying to defend his friends. That is a worthy thing, surely?"

"I – yes, it is, I guess…" Hermione whispered. "I just miss him…"

"You would not be human if you didn't." Dumbledore sighed. "It always hurts, Miss Granger. But trust me when I saw that the pain will – not leave, but it will fade. You will focus on other things, and it will not hurt as much. Eventually. Now, go and get ready Miss Granger. The portkey is set, so you haven't got much time."

"Yes sir." Hermione sniffed, and turned away. She quickly turned back though. "Sir? Thank you."

Dumbledore smiled. "It was my pleasure, Miss Granger. Off you go now."

* * *

Harry sighed, and picked up his wand from where it had fallen. This was getting him nowhere. Nothing had ever worked on his hair – not magic, not water, not combs, not gel, not spray. It ran in the family, apparently. He had seen photos of his father with the same tuft. He settled for sweeping his fringe to the side, covering the scar on his forehead. It was the best he could do.

"Harry?" Ron stood in the doorway. "You ready to go?"

"I – I don't – does this look ok to you? I know his grandmother's a bit of a traditionalist, I don't want to upset her, do you think I should change?"

"Harry, you're babbling." Ron informed him.

"I know," Harry dropped his head. "I just – I don't want to see him like that. Not again."

"None of us do mate. But you'll feel worse if you don't go, you know that. We need to say goodbye."

"Yeah, I know." Harry sighed, and made his way out of the bathroom, grabbing his cloak from the bed. Ron joined him, and they walked down to the common room in silence. It was mercifully quiet, and they sat in front of the fire, brooding on the pending funeral. Harry stared into the empty fireplace, his expression doleful.

"Harry, can I ask you something?"

Harry looked up. Ron was not looking at him, and had hunched forward, as if he was trying to hold something inside him. "What's wrong?"

"D'you think there was anything we could have done? Anything that might have saved him?" Ron's hands were trembling, and his eyes glinted with repressed tears.

Harry sighed. "Ron, if there's one thing I've learnt after everything I've been through, it's that second guessing yourself is pointless. I know I don't always take my own advice, but it's true. Maybe I could have done something differently with Darrow, something that wouldn't have ended up with both brothers dying. Maybe I could have made sure Neville learnt more defensive magic than just a few shield charms. Maybe you could have gone with him and fought Sirius off together, maybe you could have healed him if someone had got there a little quicker – or maybe it could be a double funeral we'd be holding today. You can never know what might have happened. I wish I'd realised that I little earlier."

Ron sank his head into his hands. "I've never – I've never lost anyone close to me before, you know? Not like this, anyway. I mean, my Uncle Bilius died, but he was an old man really, it wasn't, I dunno, it wasn't a surprise, I guess. And I was only about six when he died, so it's not like we were best friends."

"I don't know how to help Ron. I barely remember my parents – I can't honestly say I miss them, it's more… more that I wish they were here, if you see the difference? I wish that I'd grown up with them, wish they were here now. The closest I've got to bereavement in living memory is Sirius, and I've kind of drowned the grief there, you know? Replaced it with anger."

Ron chuckled darkly. "Yeah, we've kinda noticed that to be honest. You have been a little intense. It's understandable, but I hope you snap out of it soon mate, I really do."

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to make him pay, so badly. I still do, even more so now."

"Join the club. I think we'd all like a piece of him at the moment."

"I guess, yeah."

There was a long moment of silence. Ron broke it, tentatively. "Are you going to kill him, if you get the opportunity?"

Harry considered his answer carefully. It wasn't as easy a matter as he had thought a year ago, and that came as a surprise. "I honestly don't know. When I first found out what had happened, I was devastated, you know I was. But that changed to anger, and since then… I'm not entirely sure I like where that's taken me. I treated Darrow like he was a joke, and it wasn't, not at all."

"You didn't know what would happen if you won, you can't blame yourself for that."

"I don't. But even if that hadn't happened, it was a serious matter. It's not like I got away unscathed, is it?"

Ron inclined his head, acknowledging that. Harry had been patched up within a few hours, but the fact remained that he had still been injured.

"I can't carry on like that though. The Knights, they're basically not much of a threat unless they attack en mass, they're just spoiled Purebloods with a wacked out idea of fun. Don't get me wrong, some of them aren't useless, but they aren't the real threat. It's the Death Eaters, the real ones, that are the problem. And Voldemort, of course."

"You did ok against Sirius and Rosier last year…"

Harry hesitated. In truth, he hadn't done anything against Sirius and Rosier, not really. Titus had been in control the entire time. But of course, Ron didn't know about Titus. And this didn't really seem the time or the place to explain. "I got lucky," he said instead. "And in a way, I wish I hadn't."

Ron looked at him, his expression suggesting that Harry was beginning to sound a little crazy. Harry tried to explain. "I thought I was better than I am. I mean, I'm good, but I'm good for my age. When I was up against Voldemort… He's staggering Ron. I have never, _never_, felt anything like it. If he hadn't decided to toy with me, I'd be dead by now, I know it. He could have killed me with one spell. It was just luck that I got away. If my power hadn't exploded over everything, if our wands hadn't connected, if there hadn't been a massive statue at the grave… I can't beat him in a one-on-one duel, not yet. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. But I know my limits now. I know what I can't do. I didn't know that before, and it made me act like a dick sometimes.

"So I don't know if I'll kill him. I don't know if I can, I don't know if I should – I hated how it felt when I killed Darrow, and I never want to feel like that again. And be honest; Neville hated violence, would he really want me to swear vengeance against Sirius in his name?"

Ron nodded, slowly. "No, I don't think he would."

"And I think he'd be delighted you recognise that, Harry."

They looked round, to see Hermione standing watching them, a slight smile on her lips. They greeted her as she walked over to sit next to them, leaning slightly against Ron as she sat down. He shuffled along on the sofa, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Where've you been? Are you ready to go?" Harry enquired. Hermione looked as if she'd been outside, but what she could have been doing was anyone's guess. She opened her mouth to reply, but said nothing for a moment.

"I'll explain later. Well, I didn't actually do anything in the end, but I'll explain what I was going to do later. We need to get ready."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "It's nearly time."

* * *

Harry had been to one funeral in his life, so far as he remembered. He knew that he had been there for his parent's funeral, but he had no recollection of it. But his Uncle Vernon's second cousin had died when Harry had been eight, and the whole family had trooped along to pay their respects, despite the fact that Harry and Dudley had never met him, and Vernon himself hadn't seen him in about ten years. Harry had, perhaps naively, assumed that Neville's funeral would be something similar.

So when the portkey deposited them on a sandy beach, he was a little surprised, to say the least. There was a boat at the waters edge, rocking gently with the current, and a few people standing around it. The sun was sinking over the horizon, its light glinting across the water as if the sea was on fire. Harry and the others made their way down to it, treading carefully across the wet sand. Harry recognised Neville's grandmother, Augusta, and Caradoc Dearborn, who looked as if he didn't quite know what to be doing. Augusta Longbottom simply looked – calm, was the best way Harry could describe it. As if this was just another thing to be done. It was only the tell-tale sheen to her eyes that showed her grief.

He looked around, but could not see Neville's parents. He wasn't sure whether to be surprised or not. He knew that they were not really in any condition to go anywhere, but he thought an exception might have been made under the circumstances. Of course, he wasn't entirely sure whether they would have understood what was going on, or if they even understood their son was dead.

They all formed a semi-circle around the boat. There was a shrouded figure laid inside it, and Harry welled up at the sight of his friend. He blinked, rapidly, trying not to cry. Beside him, Parvati squeezed his hand hard, and he smiled at her weakly.

"Are you ok?" She whispered.

"I'll be fine, don't worry."

She didn't look convinced, but squeezed his hand again and turned back to the boat. Harry turned his mind to the spell they had been taught the day before. Once they were all gathered, Augusta Longbottom stepped forward. As head of the family, it fell to her to conduct the ceremony; there was no priest or equivalent figure. She drew her wand, and rested the tip against Neville's face. A brilliant ball of blue light came out, and hovered over Neville, illuminating his face.

"My grandson was a good person. I fear I did not tell him that enough while he was alive, but I was always proud of him. He was exceptionally talented, in his own quiet way, and his love for his parents, despite having no real memories of them as…" she paused, momentarily, searching for the appropriate words. "As unharmed – it astonished me, every time I saw it. He was a pacifist, and he held true to those beliefs to the end, only defending himself, never attacking. If more people had such faith in their own convictions, perhaps this world would be a better place. He was moral, true to his beliefs, and honourable to the end. There can be no finer summary of his life. Rest in peace Neville. I will miss you."

Augusta choked up as she neared the end of her speech, her words becoming more stilted and her tone more emotional. Reaching out her hand, she dropped several items into the boat with Neville. Harry looked at them, and identified them as sweet wrappers. It took him a moment to remember that Neville had told him that he saved these from each visit to his parents, the only gifts his mother had ever given him. When the memory clicked into place, his defences failed, and tears began to fall from his eyes, and he bowed his head.

When his grandmother had stepped back, tears of her own now falling, the other mourners stepped forward to pay their own tributes. Caradoc Dearborn went first. He followed Augusta's lead, resting his wand against Neville and conjuring his own ball of light. It floated down his body, coming to rest at his shoulder.

"I was never given the chance to get to know my godson, but from what I've heard, I know that his parents would have been proud of the way he lived his life. I'm sorry I'll never get to know him, but I will do everything I can to honour his memory. Rest in peace Neville."

He stepped back, and a woman Harry didn't recognise took his place, murmuring her tribute. The ball of light she conjured halted over Neville's hand. The mourners continued, balls of light hovering over Neville, making him a beacon in the early twilight. Eventually, Hermione stepped forward.

"Neville was a good friend," she started, her voice thick with tears. "He was always happy to help me, always trying to take care of me. He was braver than we ever thought he could be. Rest in peace Neville."

She stepped back, and buried her face in her hands, turning into Ron. He pulled her into a slightly awkward hug, a pained expression on his face. Hermione rarely got so upset that she needed such comfort, but when it did happen, she had usually turned to Neville. Having to go to someone else, even another close friend, was clearly painful for them both.

Harry went forward himself, and placed his wand gently against Neville's chest. A twitch of his magic, and his own ball of light drifted away from him, hovering over Neville's heart. He looked down at Neville for a moment, committing to memory this final glimpse of him.

"Neville was one of my oldest friends. He was always there for me, even if I didn't always realise it. He tried to keep me on the straight and narrow, and I didn't always listen to him. I realise what he was trying to say now, and I'll do my best to remember what he said. Thank you Neville. Rest in peace."

He stepped back into the semi-circle while Parvati left her tribute, and his gaze drifted out to sea. He couldn't look at the body now. The sun was barely visible now, more light coming from the globes hovering over Neville than from the sky. As the last mourner stepped back into their place, Augusta walked forward again, her head held high. She raised her wand, and the globes flashed. Harry gasped as he felt a pull on his magic, and the light turned to a blanket of flame, sinking down over the boat, engulfing Neville's body.

The boat caught fire, and as it burned, Augusta swished her wand once more. The water surged, and the boat was lifted from its resting place and into the sea, as a deep ringing sound tolled around them. Harry suspected that it could not be heard outside their own heads.

Neville's body was carried out to sea, and they watched his funeral pyre as it drifted away into the distance. There was a final flash, and Harry felt his magic soar; he closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly lost in the sensations of the magic around him. When he opened his eyes again, the boat had gone, whether burnt away or sunk beneath the waves, he could not say.

"Goodbye, my friend," he whispered to the air.

* * *

**The End of Book 4**

**A/N**: So, there you have it. Four down, three to go. There'll be a bit of a break between this chapter and the start of book 5, as I want to build up a buffer of at least five chapters, and assess how much time I can devote to writing on top of all the work I'll be doing; that said, I'm about halfway through the third chapter already, so it may be sooner than anticipated! There will be progress updates on my profile page though, so keep an eye on that if you haven't signed up for alerts.

Thank you all for reading, and if you reviewed, then a massive extra thank you to you all. In addition, it would be wrong of me not to thank Hellinbrand, who has been a great help with several specific scenes in this (and previous) books, and is a great sounding board in general.

Shinysavage


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